Define Selfish
by cvideo5th
Summary: "Morning," Lena Foster's morning greeting is quiet and subdued. Stef doesn't blink. Lena's new mannerisms, the new tone in her voice isn't strange. It's as usual now. How quickly people adapt, but then, whatever is for any length of time becomes 'as usual'. It's been a week since Callie ran away.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, obvious disclaimer: nothing relating to The Fosters belongs to me.**

**This is the first fanfic I've ever posted. This show and its premise has given me hope as I'm sure it's given a lot of people. The character dynamics fascinate me, so I've decided to try and capture their voices/mannerisms and personalities. Don't know how well I'll do-but I also wanted to try and be as realistic as possible. I've been reading a lot of fanfics that make Stef and Lena super-moms...which they are. But even they have limitations so I'm trying to keep this real. Any suggestions or corrections, comments, anything would be great. I have a couple more chapters, but I don't know if I'll put them up without a few reviews. Let me know if you'd want to read more!**

_**Callie Jacobs**_

_**New York City**_

_**Day Five**_

_Who is she without Jude? _

Running is hard.

Callie knows that, but staying should have been harder; confronting what she's done and accepting the consequences would take _real_ strength.

Running took more. Running took _everything_.

Day one, Callie stumbled. She'd almost asked Wyatt to turn the car around and take her back. She'd _almost_ turned on the cell phone that Stef and Lena had given her—Callie knows that the Moms have a tracking app for all of their kid's phones. The stumble didn't stop her, Callie wishes it had. Instead she hurled herself forward into the dark, away from Wyatt, away from phones and reminders. Away from her blue duffel bag, clothes, cell phone, food and all—her backpack is all she's ever needed. How did she collect so much stuff? At every other home she and Jude kept their handful of belongings close and they stayed packed because it was quicker that way; easier.

Now, the backpack is lighter than it used to be. The money's gone. What little food she stole from the Fosters was fully digested and eliminated three days ago. This is the first time Callie allows her grip on the old strap to loosen. The worn fabric crumples on the bench next to her. She can't sit here for long. Not if she doesn't want them to find her. Callie's dark eyes travel in a listless arc over the subway tunnel ceiling in silent acquiescence of the understatement of the year. Stef Foster moves fast.

For a moment—just one, is all she intends, Callie Jacobs stops to breathe and stare at the slimy, black streaked wall beyond the tracks, out of reach. She doesn't really see it. The tunnel smells dank and the air is thick, hard to breathe. But it's been hard to breathe for a while now. Callie doesn't notice the cloying warmth that lulls her exhausted body into a false sense of stagnant peace. She's too busy asking the hard questions…

When did running away become about what _she_ wanted? Callie is running for Jude. She's trying to _not_ be selfish. Define selfish. It doesn't seem so cut and dry anymore. Just thinking that what she's doing is _for_ Jude leaves a bad taste in Callie's mouth. Talk about a guilt trip. Her baby brother will be pissed at her, sure, and then he'll blame himself. Jude will forgive Callie, he always does-he might never forgive _himself_. Callie _promised_, but she can't escape it…

_Callie Jacobs is selfish._ She's selfish for staining the 'morning after' glow that Stef and Lena deserved—the Moms are responsible for her. In one way or another, Callie left her problems at their front step when she closed that door behind her and they'll have no choice but to deal with them. That wasn't part of the plan. She didn't think about how this would affect them—legally and emotionally. Subconsciously, Callie understands that she is using the Fosters, banking on the fact that they will take care of her brother and that they'll do whatever they have to with Bill and the State to make sure the 'package deal' that is her and Jude officially becomes two single units.

_They'll have to split us up after all._ Ironic how everything changes—so much of Callie's life in foster care was about keeping her and Jude together.

Callie's vision refocuses and targets the few weary stragglers shuffling toward the station atrium like a laser. She hates them. They're her enemies, every single one. All it will take is one wrong question, one wrong move and she'll be back in the hands of the Fosters; tied to her little brother again, weighing him down. She doesn't feel sorry for herself. Callie isn't bitter, she's just tired.

What will her leaving do to Brandon? It won't be pleasant. Her 'almost' brother probably blames himself as much as Jude. She's left him to deal with her shit on his own. Knowing Brandon, he'll tell his mother what he and Callie did. He has to—because Stef will want to understand and because Brandon will rely on his mom to help _him_ understand. It's not fair. Callie should be there when he tells them. This is her fault, not his.

Mariana will hate her. Callie's given her ex-roomie every reason in the world to pick up the white towel and forgo the teetering bridge that they've built up. Jesus should hate her by proxy.

Running is hard.

Once you start, it's impossible to stop. Callie gets it now. She's not just running to keep from being found. She only has to do that until she's eighteen and then she won't be a ward of the state anymore. Callie is going to be running for the rest of her life because if she keeps running, maybe she'll be able to convince herself there's still someone chasing.

Time to go again. She can't feel her fingers or the strap between them when she reaches for her backpack. Callie doesn't notice how cold her hands are, or that she isn't alone. She can't _think_ anymore. It feels like she's floating and her ears are stuffed with cotton, but the runaway isn't too worried. Her body is still functioning, isn't it?

Callie's legs shake when she stands.

She's been this hungry before, but never this weak.

Blinking takes too much effort. She changed in the Fosters' home. For half a second Callie fears that she's lost her ability to survive, to _deal_. The pain is constant.

There are shadows coming her way. She sees them, can't make out facial features or coherent words, only mumbling. Did she just say something? Someone looms over her and there's a tug on her backpack—the strap slips halfway down her shoulder, the tunnel sways and the lights fuzz. Callie can't focus.

The teen squints, she's trying, she really is, but the words won't make sense. All she knows is that she can't let go. Someone pulls and Callie lurches forward with her tugging backpack, scuffing the toe of her boots before her knee crashes into the concrete. She feels _that_ but it's just a deep seated ache.

Why isn't she standing? Her leg won't do what her brain tells it to and Callie knows. She knows how dangerous this position is. She's on her knees. Callie is borderline helpless. Borderline. They haven't knifed her yet—or shot her for the bag. She can still think, no matter how muddled, she still knows what it means to survive. Survival means sacrifice.

The first kick is hard but poorly aimed and muffled cursing follows Callie's forehead to the hard ground. Her arm wrenches and she drags along the station floor before she makes the choice. Callie lets go of the bag. Who the hell cares? She doesn't need that anymore either.

Running footsteps echo in the empty, flickering light of the underground station. Callie hears them loud and clear, she sees the sharp lines of her muggers' retreating backs. A twisted sense of solidarity spans between her grimacing smirk and the three running street kids. She doesn't blame them. Callie is one of them now. Every last ounce of strength that she has left evaporates after Callie drags herself back onto the immovable bench and lies down.

She can't keep her eyes open. It's time. Callie has done everything in her power to stave off this moment—the one where she finally has to acknowledge that _they_ know. Day One, she smashed her watch and ripped Wyatt's CD player out of the car. She knows what time Stef gets up. Stef will have been the first to realize.

_"You're not _disposable_, Callie. You're not _worthless."

Callie tries not to remember. The words don't make her cry anymore. She's made them meaningless. Instead she forces herself to close her eyes, allows her body to go limp. She knows the dam will break. It's ok to let go—for the first and _last_ time. She has to let it happen, Callie knows that one day it will, no matter how hard she fights against it. It's best to get it out of the way now. So, Callie deliberately lies still, all alone now, with nothing but the clothes on her back and tries to imagine it.

She can pin point the moment when Stef will have discovered Callie missing.

Every rolling ache in the teen's chest crests with an image, a sound, a memory or a fantastical nightmare of Stef and Lena. She lets it happen, just this once. She pretends that they're in pain, opens herself up to it. She can manufacture their panic—their anger and the hurt that Callie's caused. She knows how helpless they feel. She knows they love her.

Callie does it to punish herself and to move on. She can't live with them and right now, she doesn't want to live without them. So she obliterates them in her mind, builds them up, tells herself she had everything she ever wanted…and then she makes them angry. She turns them against her. She tears the Fosters to pieces in her mind. She wants them to come and get her. It makes her sick to her stomach to admit that she wants the Moms to swoop in and rescue her, hold her and comfort her. If Callie survives the night, she'll move on.

But this is as far as she goes. She'll run circles around this city 'til the day she dies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the reviews you guys! I have to say I'm sooo excited to be writing this now :) Especially since there's been a few comments that bring up some inconsistencies-such as the fact that it always seems to be Stef that folks focus on when it comes to bringing Callie home. Trust me, I'll get to that in Chapter three, you took the words right out of my mouth! I won't be able to update now until Tues, but keep the reviews coming, and feel free to leave any suggestions or comments about what you'd like to see.**

_**The Foster's**_

_**San Diego, CA**_

_**Day 7**_

"Morning," Lena Foster's morning greeting is quiet and subdued. Stef doesn't blink. Lena's new mannerisms, the new tone in her voice isn't strange. It's as usual now. How quickly people adapt, but then, whatever _is_ for any length of time _becomes_ 'as usual'. It's been a week since Callie ran away.

Stef sips at her cold coffee, both hands wrapped around the ceramic mug, staring straight ahead. "Morning," she says neutrally.

There's an elephant in the room, sitting right next to the Callie shaped one. Today is Stef's first day back to work. The blonde's sleeves tug at her shoulders as she lifts her cup and tilts her head back for the last few dregs of caffeinated bliss.

Lena looks over her shoulder at the sink, fully dressed and ready to go. There was a time when she'd be standing here in her pajamas. Stef always wakes up first, goes in earlier—but not since _that_ morning. Not anymore. Lena gets up with Stef now. It's 'as usual'.

"You're still coming home for lunch today?" Lena knows the answer; Stef knows that her partner knows the answer. This is what they do. They go over what needs to be done and then they do it.

Stef stands up and slips her mug into the sink, standing close enough to her wife to limit Lena's movement, "I'll be here, Love."

Lena nods noncommittally and pulls at her sleeves before shifting the dirty dishes to one side of the sink so she can run the faucet.

"Lena," Stef won't look away from her lover's face. She made herself a promise as soon as she accepted that it was going to take time to find Callie: Stef will never look away from someone she loves again—and she won't let them either, "look at me _please_, love."

Lena's shoulders straighten and her hands still. She steels herself before meeting the compassion and pain in Stef's face—a look that she knows is mirrored by her own. Sometimes it seems that sharing the pain magnifies it, but Lena touches the side of her wife's face and softens her bearing, "I'm sorry this is all happening today, Stef. It's hard enough that you have to start today thinking about Callie…"

Stef closes her eyes and shakes her head in dismissal, "Doesn't matter babe. We have to do this _today_ for Jude. God knows that boy deserves whatever stability we can give him."

Her statement doesn't require a reply. It goes without saying. Lena stands with her back to the sink, her hands clutching the lip of the counter. She looks thoughtful as she watches her partner go on with her morning routine.

Stef gets out the bread, preparing to start the kids' lunches.

The silence hangs, 'as usual'.

All of the blame and angry queries have already been assigned and dissolved. Some things deserve to be said more than once.

"What did we miss, Stef?"

"Lena…" Stef's pleading admonishment hurts her more than Lena. They've been through this. There was nothing they could have done, nothing more they could have 'seen'. Callie _was_ happy the day of the wedding, Stef is sure of it. The girl made a choice and deliberately excluded her new family from it. There is nothing Stef and Lena could have done, short of putting the house in lockdown on one of the happiest nights of their life for no foreseeable reason. In one day, Stef Foster and Lena Adams gained a daughter, a son and they'd finally stood up to share their love with family and friends in marriage. In one day that euphoric high evaporated. In one day it felt like they lost all sense. In one day they lost Callie.

Lena opens her mouth to respond, to tell Stef that she knows—she _does_—that there _is_ nothing they could have done but that she still feels like a horrible excuse for a mother because Lena doesn't only feel guilty. Lena is angry, she feels betrayed. She wants to ask the question that Stef refuses to speak. How could Callie do this to their family?

She doesn't get the chance.

Jesus swings into the kitchen, looking for breakfast, followed by a sullen Mariana.

Lena foregoes her early attempt at washing, tossing the dishcloth unceremoniously into the sink, eyes on Stef's back the whole time. Her arm shoots out habitually to slow Jesus as her son speeds around the table. He plops into the nearest chair with cereal and bowl in hand as Mariana rolls her eyes for no apparent reason, sitting across from him. She isn't hungry.

Stef has noticed Mariana's new diet plan and she doesn't like it. 'Miss Thing' doesn't always have time for breakfast what with all the time she spends grooming, but Mariana normally tries not to miss it. She hasn't eaten breakfast in a week. Stef is going to make sure _that_ doesn't become 'as usual'.

"Eat, Mariana." It's not a request and Mariana rolls her eyes again before snagging Jesus' cereal and looking back toward the stairs as Jude walks into the kitchen.

It's too late for the pre-teen. His 'as usual' isn't negotiable. Jude walks with a purpose now. He gets where he's going, says what he has to say—in as few words as possible—and does what needs to be done. The moms haven't seen his smile in a week or heard Callie's name from his mouth since that morning. Nothing they've said changes Jude's day-to-day routine.

Brandon is still the last one down, but now he's the first one to bed. Sleeping makes it easier, accept for the fact that it makes the morning come faster. Stef and Lena know that he blames himself and so does Jude.

The difference is Jude doesn't punish anybody, he never says anything bad.

Stef and Lena suspect that's why Jude's stopped saying anything of consequence, at all.

"Why is everyone so quiet?" Mariana is the first to jump into the breach—she's not a glutton for punishment, but it's clear that there's something on everyone's minds and Mariana doesn't want to be the one to say what that is. It's safer to be the one who calls everyone else out.

Lena uses a spatula to drop a short stack of crisped pancakes onto the plate in the middle of the table and Mariana stops mid-chew. She and Jesus are eating cereal, Jude is already reaching for the box and the moms have clearly eaten already.

The other shoe must be about to drop.

Jesus sets his spoon down and says what no one wants to, "It's been seven days. They're not going to find her, are they?"

Stef stops with one hand inside a brown bag and bows her head before turning to her family. Her eyes fall on Jude, but she sees Lena watching him. Lena's got him—Stef focuses on the rest of the table, "We don't know that Jesus. And," Stef tries to get some momentum going as she piles a couple bagged lunches on the table, "I'll be able to do more from work."

"Don't they say if you don't find a missing person in 48 hours—" Mariana has the decency to stop herself when Lena glares at her and she notices her new little brother's pale face.

"Callie isn't _missing_, Mariana," Lena says, pointedly dropping a pancake onto a plate and setting it in front of Jude while plucking the cereal box out of his shaking hand in one fell swoop, "She left on her own. Callie will be _fine_, and we'll find her. She can't hide forever—and Stef is faster than Callie can run."

Stef nods in the affirmative. It's as good an answer as any—but the sound of ceramic clinking against the salt shaker surprises her _and_ Lena as Jude pushes his plate away.

Brandon chose that moment to enter the kitchen—one look at his little brother's stormy face and the eldest son felt the kitchen floor tilt under his feet. He can't stop himself; it's like diarrhea of the mouth, "What's going on?"

Jude doesn't _try_ to stop, not this time, "Why isn't anyone saying it?"

Slowly, carefully, as if she's waiting for Jude to snap, Lena puts the spatula down and turns off the stove's electric burner.

Stef looks at the others. This isn't something that can be ignored or brushed past. She's never seen this little boy do _anything_ aggressive. Her hesitation includes a lifetime of rapid analysis, "Saying what, Love?"

"How _mad_ they are?" Jude's face turns red as he drops the hammer but he makes himself very clear, "I miss her. But I _hate_ her right now because I feel guilty and it's not my fault!"

The pre-teen doesn't move and neither does anyone else. Stef's eyes shoot to Lena's face, but her wife's gaze is already there and waiting. This is exactly what Stef didn't want to voice.

Silence isn't the answer that Jude was looking for. He's never felt so alone in his life. He's always had Callie and now that _she_ is the problem he wants to know that he isn't wrong. He wants someone to tell him that he isn't a terrible person or an awful brother for the things he said to her and for the way he feels right now. Jude isn't stupid—he knows this won't last forever, eventually he'll just miss his sister and he'll do or say anything to get her back. Her absence is killing him. Anger is all he has and he has a right to be angry, doesn't he? She promised she'd stop being selfish.

"Jude…" Lena tapers off. She isn't sure she has the right answer. The woman kneels next to her youngest's chair and tries not to recoil from the accusing glare that he directs at her, "No one is saying that what Callie's doing is right. What Callie is doing, why she's doing it and even how it makes us feel right now…" Lena glances at Stef for help but for the first time in a long time, Stef looks like a deer in headlights. She's frozen. Jude has struck right to the core and she isn't recovering quickly enough.

Jude waits and he waits.

It's Jesus who comes to the rescue, "Listen little man—we all get it. I am _so_ pissed at her right now, but I know this has gotta be killing Callie. Believe me she's getting hers. I just want her back, man."

Jude's face goes slack and Stef's petrified features study Jesus'. Stef studies her children, each and every one. They're all hurting. Somehow, they still manage to understand a girl who is in so much pain, who is _so_ lost and confused that she's just walked out on everyone who loves her. Stef couldn't be prouder of her family.

From the floor, still next to Jude, Lena quietly calls everyone to action, "Let's go guys, you'd better head out, I need you to walk today, I'm going in a little late."

One by one the Foster children walk out of their shipwreck of a breakfast but Lena's hand on Jude's arm keeps the boy in his chair.

Stef finally sits down at the table across from her soon-to-be son and her wife. They're back in sync as Lena catches Stef's eye.

"It's ok to be mad, baby. We know you love your sister, no matter what." Stef pauses and Lena picks up.

"…And we don't think any less of _you_. Sometimes…it's the people you love most who hurt you the worst, Jude, but there's a reason we love them to begin with. We love them so much, we forgive them and we try to help them."

Jude won't look at Lena. He doesn't look up from the table at Stef. His face is a mask of petulant anger but it's slipping. The boy is losing his hard won composure, "I didn't mean it."

Stef's lips purse but she waits. When Jude doesn't continue she prods him, "Mean what?"

"What I said to Callie. She always takes care of me. She's not selfish. I was just scared you wouldn't keep us if…"

Lena is already shaking her head, "Jude, we love you and we love Callie. Everyone makes mistakes—and we will _never_ send you away for them."

Jude looks defeated; he doesn't even notice Lena's choice of words. His foster Moms have never quite managed the word 'love' in regards to him or his sister before.

Stef and Lena recognize this face. The little boy isn't an angry stranger anymore. There's still hope, but he isn't hearing them.

"I'm sorry." Jude finally meets Stef's eyes but he can't look at Lena's hand on his arm, she's too close. He _won't_ look at her.

Stef doesn't ask him to continue this time. She doesn't want him to. The pain that this is causing is written all over her face but she knows he needs to and that she and Lena need to reassure him.

"I'm sorry that I made her go."

"No…sweets, that's not—" But Jude is on a roll, he isn't done yet—he can't stop. Finally, the tears are rolling down his face.

"I'm sorry I got so mad, I'm sorry Callie is out there alone, I _know_ Jesus is right—she's scared and hurt and probably hungry…I don't," the boy isn't sobbing, he can't do that, but it's hard to talk, "I don't want her to be hungry…" Jude doesn't know what he wants to say anymore. Nothing's making sense to him, "Don't be mad at her. Please? I just want her to come home."

Home.

Lena wraps the boy _and_ chair in her arms, resting her chin on top of his bowed head. His fingers dig into her arms.

Stef is at a loss—and then she lies, "Jude—Jude baby, we're not angry."

* * *

What a day.

Stef doesn't bother to undo her belt—she likes the weight it carries. The uniform itself makes her stronger. She's trained to be strong, a pillar; a public servant while wearing this uniform and carrying her gun. The uniform won't let her pause before walking back into the kitchen—into what feels like the scene of a crime.

Lena's already there and so is Bill.

"Stef."

"Hi Bill, did you two start without me?"

Lena doesn't look good. Automatically, Stef takes the place by her side and wraps an arm around Lena's shoulders.

"Yeah, this isn't good Stef."

"What isn't good? I'm sorry, but I can think of a whole list of things—what are we talking about here?" Even Stef's sarcasm lacks its usual bite.

Bill blinks at the couple in sympathy before opening his mouth, "Callie's still on probation—she's a ward of the state and she already has a file full of—"

Lena's fists curl on the island top and Stef's eyes flicker, detecting danger but it's too late to curb Lena's venomous response, "That girl is _not_ her file. You know as well as we do that she and Jude fell through the cracks. The system fails these kids every day—_you_ failed these kids."

The social worker isn't insulted. He doesn't take it personally anymore. Lena Adams—excuse him—Lena _Foster_ speaks the truth. He knows it and he knows there's only so much he can do and so much blame he can accept. Bill isn't uncaring and he doesn't say it to be spiteful, just to be honest and to set the tone for the rest of this god awful conversation, "So did you."

Silence falls on the kitchen. Neither woman speaks.

"This is largely on Callie, yes. She chose to run away, but the state has questions. There's protocol to be followed. I know the two of you and I _will_ vouch for you but I don't know if that will be enough to convince a judge to go through with Jude's adoption in Callie's absence. Your fitness as guardians will be questioned—"

"What are you—"

Bill raises a hand to interrupt Stef's interruption, "You're not gonna lose the kids Stef. This whole thing is a formality, but right now, I just don't see how we can cut through enough red tape to initiate Jude's adoption. And if Callie _is_ found…"

"Are you trying to say we'll have nothing to do with what happens to Callie if she comes back?" asks Lena. Stef's arm tightens around her.

"You are more than welcome to petition the judge. I'll back you because I believe this is the best place for her, but if the judge thinks you can't handle her, or if he decides to utilize her parole violation, she'll end up back in Juvie."

"This's…" Stef bites back the words as she pulls away from Lena and starts to pace.

Lena doesn't have to watch her wife to feel the intangible parts of herself wearing the floor thin with Stef, "And you don't think we'll be allowed to adopt Jude."

"I'm saying it's going to take _time_. If we throw Callie under the bus and paint her as a high risk, it'll be easy to cut the strings between the two kids. The adoption will go smooth…"

Stef warns from the other end of the kitchen, "We're not doing that."

Bill continues as if he hasn't heard, "If we try to work this so Callie has a _chance_ at a life when she's found, then there's going to be some investigation. You're going to have to answer as to how you managed to 'lose' Jude's sister. It's not on you to find her but the state placed Callie Jacobs in _your_ care. I know and you know that there was nothing you could have done. So prove it without making Callie come off as a risk."

_Prove it._ Callie _was_ a risk…a risk worth taking.

Lena stands up and Stef is at her side in a flash, hand on her shoulder. Fine.

"I'm not going to recommend removing Jude from this house—and for now I believe the state will accept my recommendation. You have a lot to think about."

"We do."

"Thank you, Bill."

He shows himself out. The sound of the clicking latch is ominous.

Stef sinks down into the seat next to Lena and holds out her hands. Where to begin?

* * *

"The kids are all in bed?"

"Jesus is still on the phone with Lexi, but he's in his room."

"Good." Stef picks up her pillow and hooks the comforter with one finger, pulling it back. She's exhausted.

"Are we going to talk about what happened this morning?"

Stef doesn't want to.

"Aren't you tired, Love?"

Lena's reply is hissed, "Of course I'm tired Stef and don't think I don't see how run down _you_ are. I know you're not sleeping. But that little boy was the only one with the guts to admit how he was really feeling this morning. We _have_ to deal with this ourselves before we can help the kids."

Stef feels like sighing. Any anger she harbors is drowning under several layers of exhaustion—but she can at least listen.

"Stef," Lena drops onto her side of the bed as Stef collapses back into their pillows, "I _know_ Callie is trying to protect Jude, but after everything we've been through with her, I expected her to trust us. I think we deserve that much. She should have come to us. Instead you're not sleeping, Jude is heartbroken, Mariana isn't eating, Jesus is stepping in when I hesitate and I'm just so angry with her for putting all of us through this. I feel...betrayed." There. She's said it.

Lena feels betrayed because all this time, Callie's been lying. She smiled at Stef and Lena, laughed with them. Lena thought Callie was finally happy. She relives the morning of the wedding repeatedly, searching for any sign that Callie wasn't happy about the adoption—that she couldn't handle it. Lena was happy that Callie was happy. Lena's angry now because she was wrong and because she's just as helpless as Callie is out there. Lena's scared.

Stef is too. One arm snags Lena's wrist and pulls her down into Stef's side, "So what, Lena?"

It's not an admonishment it's an eye opener, "What does that change? We're _all_ hurt. Yes, I feel the same way, but I also feel like my body is shutting down every day that goes by and I can't find her. I know she's out there, scared. She isn't safe and in my mind she won't be safe until she's back here with us, even if it means I have to handcuff her to the toilet downstairs," Stef pauses for a watery laugh but only gets a silent nod into her shoulder, "You're angry, I'm angry—Callie's probably angry too."

Stef isn't sure where to go from there, "What will you do when she comes home?"

Lena lifts her face from Stef's shirt. She can't believe she doesn't have a ready answer for this question. The truth is, Lena knows what she'll do—angry or not, she'll grab Callie and hold her until someone knocks some sense into Callie—or into Lena, whichever comes first. That's never really been in question. The only real question here is how to live in the interim.

Stef stares at the ceiling, playing with her wife's curly hair.

"Stef…"

The blonde grunts in acknowledgement.

"I just want her back here, under _our_ roof, in _our_ lives."

"Lena…"

The long legged black woman tilts her head to see past Stef's jaw line.

"We'll bring her home, Love."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: Thanks so much for reading everyone! I wasn't expecting such a response, I'm glad you're liking it so far. I have a pretty basic plan of how I want this story to go, but I had originally planned on keeping it going until the show picks up again and now it feels like it's going a bit fast. I'm open for suggestions-let me know what you think should be addressed or if anything I write seems out of character. I know this chapter has a lot of introspection, still, I hope I capture Callie well enough. Enjoy!**

_**Callie Jacobs**_

_**New York City**_

_**Day 15**_

Every time Callie sees a cop she feels like bolting. Instead, she crosses the busy street, flips the hood of her 'borrowed' sweatshirt up and pretends that she isn't picturing Stef Foster or remembering what it felt like sitting in the hospital waiting room hoping she wouldn't die.

So many people…Callie bites her tongue to keep from lashing out as strangers jostle her on all sides. She _hates_ this city and she knows she'll never make it to the shelter in time. Five o'clock is the deadline. Hoping that it won't be full by then is stupid and Callie _isn't_ stupid. She takes a second to glance up at the sky and accidently but unavoidably bumps into some poor sap on the street—the feel of foreign fingers in her pocket makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Callie jerks away, instinctively—it's not like she has much for a pick pocket to score, but it feels like a violation. They happen every day. It's something you get used to.

She hasn't bothered to replace her backpack. Living in shelters doesn't demand a high volume of personal possessions—the less the better. Callie doesn't even keep a tooth brush; she uses her finger when she can get her hands on some toothpaste. There's no need for a hair brush anymore either. The runaway sold her pony tail yesterday for thirty dollars. It's the first step. Selling her hair seemed ok—better than some of the alternatives and no matter how often she reminds herself that she's going to have to do whatever it takes to survive, it was a relief to do something so blameless first. Callie's got this. She's doing all right and she doesn't have any additional reasons to hate herself—yet. That safety net will be short lived, it has to be—but for now, it's nice to know she has thirty dollars to her name.

Aimlessly walking the streets is getting old. Callie has seen a lot, learned some but she's still working on a plan. There's always something you can do and Callie is nothing if not resourceful. Right now, she's hungry. The only familiar food place she's found on these streets—that she can afford—is a Dunkin Donuts. A girl who is a little older than Callie works at the counter and gives her free coffee at closing time. They're going to throw it out anyway.

Callie decides to duck in a little early and see if she can drum up a sandwich. She has money now and a part of her wants to prove to her new acquaintance that she's not a free-loader.

"Hey girl, you're early today."

Callie makes a face and nods, "Yeah, can I get…" Chicken, she'll go with chicken, it's always the cheapest, "…barbeque chicken on a croissant?" Ordering makes her feel like she's doing pretty damn well after all. The five dollar bill in her fist is nothing, until the girl behind the counter tries to take it. Callie swallows the bile in her throat and forces her fingers to let go. She's buying a stupid sandwich at Dunkin Donuts—shouldn't she be doing something else, something more important with her money?

Too late.

"It'll be out in a couple minutes—here, I'm going to start putting some of this stuff away, why don't you take your coffee and grab a seat?"

"Thanks." Callie grabs the luke-warm cup from the counter and slides into a seat with her back to the wall, eyes on the front windows. She sits that way for a minute without drinking, eyeing the exits. She knows what she's going to have to do next. First she's gotta find a public restroom to commandeer and clean up a little before she heads to the slums. There's a homeless camp down there. It's not the best accommodations, definitely not five-star, but in this city there's some safety in numbers when it comes to police. Callie doesn't really have anything worth stealing; it all comes down to discovery now. She's got nothing to lose.

The touch of the coffee cup against Callie's lips is actually a surprise. She doesn't know what her body is doing half the time these days. She takes a sip and tries not to make a face at the cold sludge. Caffeine is caffeine. She didn't particularly like the way the Fosters made their coffee either.

Masochism makes Callie relive her first morning at the Fosters' house. She can _still_ taste that coffee. It was like water. She'd learned not to bother unless Stef was the one brewing.

"Here you go…"

Callie jumps and looks up as a sandwich lands in front of her.

"I'm locking up in five though, sorry."

"Ok." Why bother with unnecessary words? Hunger is automatic. Callie's stomach growls as she picks up the sandwich, trying to ignore the employee's curious look as she takes a bite. Her mouth is watering before the food reaches her tongue. She already knows what it's going to taste like and has the sneaking suspicion that this sandwich is going to come back to haunt her the next time she's starving. BBQ Chicken: the dying man's last request. Callie fights back a grin, instantly putting herself in lockdown. Hysteria could be her worst enemy.

_What would they think if they could see her now?_

Callie's raised eyebrows are the byproduct of an effective mood killer, all satire aside. The sandwich slowly finds its way back to the table and Callie's appetite dies. Her hair is ragged and dirty, clothes sweat soaked and gross, her face has thinned a little and she probably smells bad. Suddenly Callie doesn't think she can stomach barbeque. She forces it though. The teen has no idea when she'll eat next.

This sandwich is definitely going to haunt her.

The wrapper crumples in Callie's fist before she tosses it in the trash and pushes through the glass door, onto the sidewalk. She's not coming back here. Not even for free coffee.

Still, Callie hasn't thought of an answer. She has _no idea_ what the Fosters would think if they could see her now. It's only taken two weeks to fully understand that she never really knew them at all. Jude is one thing and even her foster siblings—Callie's always been observant and she made her peace with being so sensitive to others—it's hard to understand something when you haven't lived it and Callie's experienced all sorts of hell so her foster siblings' problems weren't complete mysteries. Neither were Talya's, in fact, Talya was damn near transparent. It's the Moms that Callie can't grasp. They have something, they represent something; they _are_ something that Callie can't remember knowing. The only common ground between she and them is Jude. Beyond that, Callie pretends that there isn't anything to understand. She won't try to understand their position as parents let alone the part they've played in _her_ life. It's simpler to think of them as two dimensional, paper images. She can shred a piece of paper and it won't feel a thing. The most _it_ can do is give her a paper cut. Yet Callie can't seem to forget that paper _does _hold power—more than she'll ever have. What's on a page can be powerful enough to send a girl like her back to Juvie, or guarantee a boy like Jude a lifetime of love.

The Mom's are just that—they _are _two dimensional pieces of paper. They're just like the file that won't die. Callie could tear it up, burn it, but what it had to say would still brand her for the rest of her life…

It's Lena that sticks in Callie's mind, the next page in her file to be shredded.

_"Ok…Callie, we're on your side. You can take it down a notch, ok."_

Sometimes she forgets that Lena is the one who brought her home—Lena was hope. She gave Callie a chance when she could have just let her go to a group home. It's a hard thing to acknowledge after all is said and done and after opening up so much…but, Lena was the first person Callie trusted after Juvie and what Lena did for Jude—still does, Callie reminds herself—is enough to make Callie grateful for her.

Callie can read Stef a little easier. She's not such a mystery; being able to predict a person's behavior is always comforting. Callie has an idea of what Stef might think. That's probably why every time Callie thinks about her foster mothers she thinks about Stef coming to bring her back. Not now. Now she can't get Lena out of her head.

The faster Callie walks, the quicker her heart beats and the higher it rises in her throat. It feels like she's being chased._ What would Lena think? Does she hate Callie for what she's done to her family? _

Callie's sneakers flop faster until she's running down the street, weaving in and out, between the evening commuters. She drops down into the jammed street without stopping to look and cuts across the street to avoid a squad car.

Maybe Lena wouldn't think _anything_—and maybe she doesn't have anything to say to Callie anymore. Callie's hood flies off as she runs. She can't breathe.

There is _no one_ chasing her. Callie forces her body to stop and she bends over, hands on her knees, sucking in air through her nose. It burns. Tears drop from Callie's eyes onto the sidewalk and someone bumps into her, upsetting her balance and sending her shoulder into the transom of an open street deli. Her palms flatten on the rough concrete of the wall and she stays that way, back to the world, furiously trying to regain her composure. This can't keep happening. It has to stop—_now_.

Stef Foster. Callie lets the names come and murders the reactions, strangles them before they can dig in. Lena Adams. Callie isn't quite so quick—because the amount of fear that the name triggers is unexpected. Pain is one thing but fear…Callie shakes it off like a dog, determined. Brandon. Callie's nails scrape against the wall as her fingers curl into fists. Mariana. She refuses to gasp for breath again. Jesus. The muscles in Callie's chest strain.

Jude.

The seasoned teenager sinks to the ground and curls up against the building. No one notices, no one stops. It's so easy to get lost here.

There's a ringing in her ears that blocks out the sound of the city and delivers a cloud of welcome fog. Her shoe slips on the sidewalk and it takes a second for Callie's eyes to focus on her stretched leg and the strange feet that step right over without pausing. An ache in the side of her head, where Callie's temple rests against the wall demands attention but she won't give it.

They're all rats in a maze here. Callie's one of them, but…

The ache builds and the teen's eyes water in pain.

Even rats in a maze are smart enough to look for a way out.

No one can see over the walls—or under them, vermin included. So how do they find the exit? All these people, what do they know that she doesn't?

Callie's other leg lowers to the sidewalk. Her vision is clearing—her stomach painfully churning, it's that barbeque taste in the back of her throat—but there's a Laundromat across the street; she can see it between the moving hedge of legs. A moment of clarity isn't the right description, but it's certainly a moment of _something_ as Callie stands, forcing a path through her fellow prisoners, eyes on the prize.

All she knows is that _everyone_ is stuck in this maze with her. She can't see the way out, not yet—maybe she'll never find it—but _Jude_ is in here with her and she needs him to know that she's going to find the exit if it's the last thing she does.

The door of the Laundromat doesn't ding or chime when she opens it; Callie barely notices the tile floor straight out of the 50's or the whirring stacked machines. No one looks twice at her but _she_ does. Callie sees her reflection in the plastic bubble front of a washing machine. It's empty, except for her image. She's so dirty.

Callie kneels, unnoticed, staring; thinking…trying to figure a way out. Her eyes glance to the sides, no one cares; she'd have to pull a gun to get their attention so she only hesitates for a second before decisively standing and yanking her outer tank top off. The next step is her jeans. Callie stands in a pair of spandex shorts and a camisole with her shirt and pants hanging from open hands before she remembers that the washing machine won't open on its own. She pulls the bubble open almost angrily; too much energy making it impossible for her to stay calm. Her hands shake while she pulls off her sneakers and socks, an afterthought tossed in for good measure. The door slams closed—_someone_ must have noticed her by now—and Callie waits.

Change. She needs quarters. Embarrassed, Callie pulls the door open again and roots in her pants pocket for what's left of her money. She walks, barefooted toward the folding tables and the only person in here wearing a loosely titled 'uniform'. The aged Vietnamese woman is watching all right—ignoring Callie's bare feet in dignified silence but eyeing the girl like she is the devil incarnate.

"I need change."

Silence. The woman walks around her table and away, leaving Callie to watch in masked confusion until she returns with a roll of quarters.

Ten dollars…Callie doesn't want a whole roll, but maybe she'll need it. Either way, the laundry woman's glare is more like a challenge and Callie has a feeling this is one that she can't afford to turn down. She needs those quarters to help her get out of this labyrinth—so Callie hands over ten of the remaining twenty-five dollars and opens her mouth to speak again.

"Is there a bathroom?"

A nod of the head is all Callie's worth, but she looks toward the back and notices the restroom sign on her own.

The quarters disappear too quickly. She needs there to be some left.

Watching her clothes spin is oddly satisfying but Callie forgoes the brief fascination and heads for the bathroom to wash up, passing the world's 'last pay phone' on her way.

A bright red exit sign shines above the back door next to the bathroom and Callie walks passed it without looking. She'll find the way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for sticking with me everyone! Here we go...oh and by the way, I have apparently been spelling Mariana's name wrong, so bear with me, at some point I'll go back and fix that and hopefully I won't continue to make the same mistake. Also, if my chapters are getting too long, I can make them shorter. Let me know.**

_**The Fosters**_

_**San Diego, CA**_

_**Day 16**_

Who knew something so simple could be _so_ frustrating?

Lena Adams-Foster eyes the glass window of the office door from her desk, pen in hand, hair piled on top of her head, with a look of authoritative disappointment: she's taken the offense personally. Her sleeves are rolled up already—Lena drops the pen and pushes them higher anyway. If she could alter the frosted name on the glass window with some elbow grease it would be done already. Her marriage to Stef has gone largely unnoted day to day, outside of the home. All she wants is to add six letters to her name on the door—Lena touches the name plaque on her desk with the tip of her fingers and smiles slightly before shaking her head; forcing herself to forgo a pointless vendetta with an inanimate glass sheet. The name plaque is a consolation prize, picked out by her wife and tactfully snuck into the office by Jesus as a surprise: _Lena Adams-Foster_.

Some things are right in the world.

Still, Lena needs a break. She can't concentrate on the paperwork piled on her desk. Normally the assistant vice principal is on the ball—as usual, normal has gone out the window. Lena taps the pen absently against her desk top, looking out of the proverbial open window and over the front lawn of Anchor Beach Community Charter School. _Her_ school.

It's a big window. Callie's window is closing.

Lena closes her eyes and looks down at the contract on her desk. The print seems smaller than it did a few minutes ago. It also appears to be moving.

There's a ticking clock distracting her, and it isn't the one on the wall over Lena's shoulder. She considers going down to the seventh grade wing to check on Jude but thinks better of it. Pulling the boy out of class won't help him, but Lena's hand reaches for the phone on her desk anyway. It's to her ear before common sense trickles back in and she makes a face at her own ridiculous lapse.

"Ok, get a grip…" She's taken to talking to herself, or talking herself _down_, whichever is more accurate.

The contract isn't helping; Lena decides that she deserves a break regardless of the fact that she has a new family coming in for 'the tour' in an hour. She pulls her door open, moving slow and deliberately in an attempt to relax—as an afterthought Lena reaches up to pull the shade over the window down. No need to showcase how little she's getting done, and maybe the shade will prevent her from boring holes through the titled glass when she returns to work. She doesn't hear her cell phone vibrating in the drawer of the desk. She'll be back in a few; a walk is what she needs for now.

This is Lena's empire—this is what she does every day, all day, no one knows this building or its workings better than she does. It feels natural to walk the halls, confiscate a skateboard here, snag a few head phones there, it doesn't require anything more taxing than a little confidence. She looks forward to the normalcy.

"Ms. Adams!"

Almost. Lena is so close to the open door of the administration offices, so close to the exit. She sends her eyes skyward in an attempt to ward off the slithering annoyance that crawls down her arms at the sound of her favorite misnomer.

"There's a call for you, should I send it to your office?"

Lena's hand rests on the receptionist's desk, forcing her mind to focus on the moment, "What is it about?"

The young woman has her hands full with a dozen different things as she intermittently attempts to answer Lena's question, "Um…" One finger asks Lena to hold on a minute.

Really?

Lena will repeat herself once, "Who's calling?"

"Ok, sorry. A previous student—he's calling about a problem with his transcript."

Fine, fine, Lena shrugs it off and resigns herself to being chained to the office until her tour, "Put it through."

Her office phone is already on its second ring as Lena strides behind her desk and reaches over, halfheartedly to pick up the receiver and sit down, "Lena…Adams."

The hesitation says it all. She's been Lena Adams for as long as she can remember—she's been Lena Adams for as long as this _school_ can remember. Professionally, she is and will probably always be known as Lena Adams. There's really no smooth way to make the transition. Lena is going to have to make some concessions for the sake of consistency.

Out of habit, her free hand pulls open the desk drawer in search of her cell phone. Lena's face begins to contort at the sound of the caller's voice and blinking indicator on her phone.

One missed call.

"Wyatt?" Lena is completely focused now, fingers curled around the cord connecting to her desk phone. He called her cell phone first. Of course, it's the only number he has—she's the one who contacted him the morning Callie was discovered missing.

"Is she ok?" Lena's body rises, ready to get in the car, but Wyatt doesn't have the answers she's looking for. Of course Callie _said_ she's ok but she'd never tell Wyatt where she is.

Rapid disappointment slows Lena's heartbeat. She has to remind herself to breathe. And to sit. There's no_where_ to rush off to.

"That's all she said?" Lena's eyes close and shaking fingers pinch the bridge of her nose, "Thank you, Wyatt." Lena's palm flattens against the top of her desk and her eyes are drawn back to the glass of her closed office door. She can't see it behind the drawn shade.

"No, this is _very_ important—Wyatt? Wyatt, you did the right thing. _Thank you_." Lena does everything in her power to make her voice portray true sentiment. She means it, she really does—even if she isn't sure this will lead to what she hopes…to what they all hope.

The phone feels heavier than an anvil as Lena sets it back in its cradle, and picks it up again to call the desk, "I need Mariana Foster in my office, now please."

Call number two isn't going to be so short and it won't be sweet. Lena dials Stef's cell number automatically, "…Wyatt called. He's spoken to Callie."

* * *

**The Fosters**

**San Diego, CA**

**Day 22**

Mariana is frozen. If the buzzing cell phone in her hand knows who is calling it isn't telling, which means it could be Lexi. It could be some stupid solicitor, maybe it's even Ana. Mariana hasn't heard from Lexi in weeks now and Ana is probably too scared of Lena and Stef to ever call again.

It _could_ be Callie.

She knows what she's supposed to do if it is.

Mariana jumps out of bed, mouth in a tight line and carefully closes the door to the room so the click of the mechanism is muted. She stands in the middle of the room she shared with Callie, staring at the empty bed in the corner like a deer in headlights. Her heart beats wildly, half excited, half terrified by what she's doing—by what she thinks she's deciding. Even with that decision made, Mariana doesn't know if she's emotionally capable of going against her Moms on this. She's already messed up so much…and she'll be damned if that isn't why Callie picked _her_ to call.

Yes or no? Right now.

A shaky finger swipes across the surface of Mariana's phone and she lifts the phone to her ear, not knowing what she's going to say, but feeling like she can't stay here in this room, while she tries to figure it out. A few frantic steps carry her into the bathroom she shares with Jesus and Jude. She hears breathing on the other end of the line, and a lot of white noise as she reflexively checks the opposite door to her brothers' room to make sure it's closed.

It's Callie. It has to be.

Mariana sinks wordlessly to the bathroom floor, there are already tears of traumatic frustration pouring down her cheeks. What is she doing?

"Hello?" Mariana whispers, because she made the choice and she's trapped by it now. She's not going to go to the Moms. She needs to know why Callie is doing this—and why she picked _her,_ of all people, to call. Someone has to actually talk to Callie and if she gives the phone up to her Moms, Mariana is pretty sure Callie will hang up.

"Hello?" Repetition speaks of Mariana's frantic impatience. This can't be easy for Callie either, but the young girl isn't thinking about that.

"Mariana?" Callie's voice sounds surprised.

Who did she think she was going to get?

"Um, it's Callie…"

Mariana doesn't move. She doesn't blink. Her lips are quivering, trying not to cry. She doesn't mean to say what she says, she doesn't mean to sound so nasty, "What do you want?"

Why does she _always_ do exactly what she shouldn't?

There's a long digestive silence before the voice on the other end gets it together. It's blunt, trademark Callie, "I need your help."

_Her_ help? Mariana feels like whining. Callie is putting her in a really tough position.

"Where _are_ you? You have to come home, right now." Mariana settles for anger, "What were you thinking? How could you do this to us?"

And why—why is Callie calling _Mariana_ now?

In typical Callie fashion, Mariana's ex-sister skips over the questions and goes straight for the heart, "I need you to talk to Jude for me."

"What?" Mariana is having trouble following. Her chest aches with the effort to keep from sobbing. Every second that passes is a terrible reminder of the promise that she's breaking right now and every word that Callie says or doesn't say is making Mariana question—is she doing more harm than good? Are the Moms right? Hiding like this doesn't feel right; lying again feels so much worse.

Standing up is difficult, but it isn't too late. It can't be.

"…you're his sister now. I need you to tell him that I'm ok and that I _will_ figure this out. Mariana?"

Mariana barely hears Callie as she stumbles through the dark and into the hall toward her Moms' room.

"Why are you asking _me?_" The girl hisses quietly, without thinking as she slips quietly into Stef and Lena's room. She doesn't knock.

Silence.

Mariana is shaking again, but she pins the phone to her ear with her shoulder on one side of the bed. Even if her brain isn't working up to full speed, she thinks better of waking Stef up this way: Mariana covers Lena's mouth and shakes her awake, quickly holding a finger to her lips when Lena's eyes open wide.

It only takes a second for her Mom to understand. Lena gestures for Mariana to go back out into the hall, and turns to wake Stef.

Mariana stands in the hall, one arm around her ribs; shoulders hunched, trying to disappear. She forgot she'd asked a question.

"…I guess…because you can't forgive yourself either. We're not that different you know—like you kept telling me." She sounds defensive. Callie won't admit to her sudden discovery, not on the phone.

Mariana recognizes it. Her mouth won't close, the tears won't stop but she doesn't get to come up with a reply, because the phone is being wrested from her hand by Lena.

"Callie? Don't hang up."

Lena nods to Stef and heads down the stairs, hand reluctantly leaving Mariana's shoulder. Stef stays for a minute, appraising the look on their daughter's face. She isn't sure what to say to make this better, and she can't right now, she needs to be with Lena; Stef _has_ to help deal with Callie.

"It'll be ok Love." Stef is about to promise but thinks better of it. Mariana recognizes the hesitation and the reality in it. All she can do is try to get a handle on her emotions for her Moms' sake.

"I'm fine, go ahead."

"Go back to bed my baby; we'll talk to you as soon as we're done." Stef turns Mariana's shoulders toward her bedroom and jogs down the stairs but Mariana wipes her cheeks clean before sneaking down the steps and settling down to eavesdrop.

"Callie, it's Lena—Stef's here too, I'm putting you on speaker phone. _Please_ do not hang up." Lena spies Stef at the foot of the stairs and sets Mariana's cell phone in the center of the dining room table as her wife slows her approach and nods.

The sound of rattling tracks and a passing train crackles from the speaker.

Together, they wait. There is nothing they can do to force Callie's response but the silence is torturous.

Stef's face is drawn as she leans forward in her chair, biting the bullet. Lena's never noticed her partner looking so old. The monotone of Stef's voice is a clear indicator of exhaustion as is the card that she chooses to play, "Callie, we know you're in NYC. Tell us where, Love. We'll come get you."

"How do you…" Surprise is better than nothing. Stef and Lena look at each other, relieved by the sound of Callie's voice.

Lena leans over the table, still standing, "Callie, we need you to come home."

"My time is running out."

Panic slams into the Moms like a falling piano and Stef's face goes white. Lena is at a loss for words.

"That is _not _true love, don't even—"

Callie interrupts Stef's monologue before it can gather any steam, "I meant my quarters. The call is going to end. I'm really sorry for everything. Tell Jude I love him and that I'm going to figure this out, ok?"

Lena's eyes close in exacerbated relief despite the obvious set back. Words aren't as much of a challenge anymore, "This is _not_ ok, Callie. You need to understand what's happening—but if you won't talk, I want you to listen…" A second to respond is all Lena affords. If Callie's telling the truth about the call ending then Lena has something to say and she intends to say it.

"We know about Brandon—and it is a problem—but we're a family now, Callie. You don't have to figure this out on your own. We are _still_ on your side."

Stef reaches for Lena's hand and adds her own plea, "We will never stop fighting for you Callie Jacobs…we_'_ll keep looking…"

Lena squeezes Stef's fingers, she isn't sure she should say what she feels the need to, "We need you to fight for yourself, too. We're fighting with everything we have—but without you on _our_ side, we _will_ lose."

"Callie?"

"…tell us where you are, Love…"

The sound of a dial tone is the only answer.

"Come on…" Lena's elbows collapse on the table and she shakes her head, face in her hands. For a moment, Stef is quiet. Just long enough to get worked up. When she stands, Lena forces her eyes to refocus.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to call the Captain, see if she can track down the Provider," Stef reaches for Mariana's phone but Lena beats her to it.

"And what if she can? It's a pay phone Stef, Callie won't be there waiting for us. We know she's in NY—it's a _big_ city."

"What are you saying, Lena?" The strain in Stef's face and voice isn't effective. Lena disregards the warning signs this time. If she and Stef are going to fight, they're going to fight and it'll likely be for the best.

"I'm saying that this is pointless." Lena holds Mariana's phone but she's forgotten it's in her hand. All she's aware of is the storm marching across Stef's face.

"_What_ are you talking about? We know where she is. I've never been more hopeful." Stef heads toward the buried landline by the counter and roots around for the cordless phone. Her body remains stiff and unwelcoming but she doesn't dial. Not yet.

"So call the Captain, find out if Callie used the same phone as last time—if it isn't…" Lena doesn't have to say it. They're looking for a needle in a haystack. "If she doesn't want to come, dragging her back will only end with her running away again. We can't watch her 24/7."

Yes they can. Stef is determined, "So you're suggesting that we allow a 16 year old girl to _choose_ the street life? Do you _know_ what that means for her, Lena?" Fear of all the things that Callie might do, and of what might be done _to_ her, is making Stef wild. "Do you know what she'll have to do to survive?" The phone in her hand swings much like the knife Lena once waved around in mid battle; it's just as frightening.

Lena's jaw grinds in response to the invisible slap in the face. Knowing what could happen kills her. Knowing what _will_ happen if they force Callie to come home is just as damaging. They can't win.

Neither can Callie.

Stef reads the lines in her wife's face. She knows what she's said and she's sorry for it. This is the moment that they always reach, where understanding rises above personal vendettas. It's why she and Lena can fight and still know every second that _this_ isn't the end all; that in the end, there will still be love.

It's something that Callie doesn't understand—it's something that Stef and Lena want to teach her.

Stefanie Foster's face goes blank. The death grip she has on the phone in her hand is the only thing keeping her from screaming, "I can't do this right now, Lena."

Lena looks away. She understands Stef's need for action, to keep from giving up, but Lena's always had her own way of fighting battles and thus far, she and Stef have managed to complement each other, "I know. Call your Captain in the _morning_, Babe."

Struck by Lena's reality check, Stef looks for the clock. She has no idea what time it is: 12am. Breathing deeply through her nose, Stef purses her lips and nods in agreement before slowly uncurling her fingers from the phone, letting it rock on the table top, "Fine."

Lena watches it for a moment before finally looking down at the cell in _her_ hand and speaking, "We have to talk to Mariana."

Stef's gaze travels past her partner and her shoulder dips in exasperated discontent…mixed with aching dread, "Yes, we do."

Mariana is sitting on the steps, no longer trying to hide, squished into the wall with Jude under one arm and Jesus and Brandon sitting on the steps behind them. Not one of them looks bleary eyed or tired.

Stef and Lena must have been much louder than they'd thought.

"Was that Callie?" It's the longest sentence Jude has used in days. He doesn't sound hopeful or mad. The boy sounds as blank as Stef looks.

Lena turns to greet the same view as Stef and tugs at her robe for lack of anything else to do with her hands. Her head dips, bowed by the weight of what they have to discuss.

"Yes," Stef is very deliberate, "She's all right." It takes a second for the woman to wrap her mind around what she needs to do. The phone gets dropped back into its cradle, and she passes by Lena to reach the foot of the stairs, using both of her arms to herd the children back to their feet, "We'll talk about it in the morning. Everyone back to bed; let's go." Neither she nor Lena has the stamina to work this through tonight and one of the perks of being a parent happens to be not having to explain yourself…at least, not right away.

Mariana opens her mouth to protest but just leans further into the wall, letting go of Jude as her Mom's arm passes overhead, sweeping the boys into a convenient corral and forcing them up the stairs. She can't make out Stef's quiet whisper to Jesus but she's sure her Mom is telling him to keep close to Jude. Brandon's voice is even less audible. All Mariana is capable of is staring at her fingers. By the time she realizes that Lena is standing in front of her, she's forgotten how to talk.

"Mariana…" Lena's voice is as gentle as can be given the hour and the situation.

The girl retreats further into the wall when Stef plops down on the step beside her. Stef shoots a frown at Lena and reaches an arm around their daughter, "Hey, hey, what's the matter?" But Mariana doesn't relax, she isn't receptive and she doesn't appreciate Stef's attempt to placate her.

The two women communicate silently, wondering what else is going on that they can't see. It hurts knowing that there's something, but not knowing what that something is.

"Mariana, remember what we said about coming to us?"

Lena's eyebrows express her spelled out request, but when Mariana finally looks at her all she has to say is, "Can I have my phone back now? She's _not_ gonna call _me_ again." The attitude is atrocious.

Stef doesn't believe it and Lena's face says that she doesn't either, "This's about your phone—really?" Stef won't retract her arm—she's not ok with letting Mariana stew, but she does lean back to see her daughter better.

Mariana refuses to cry; the attitude is all she has to hide it. Callie is right. She and Mariana are an awful lot alike. It terrifies Mariana to realize and to wonder what would have become of her if not for Stef and Lena. Jesus has always taken care of her, but he's adjusted better than Mariana. He was willing to take the blame for what she did because she was so afraid the Moms would hate her. He wasn't scared—not like that. Will Mariana ever stop being so afraid of the life that she's been given? She might act like she takes it for granted, but Mariana never stops worrying that it'll be yanked right out from under her…just like Callie. That someday she'll mess up so bad…

She clears her throat, "You're not really gonna leave her out there right? You're gonna try and find her?"

Stef opens her mouth and closes it again. If she had her own way, she'd be in NYC tomorrow afternoon, but she leaves it up to Lena.

Lena captures Mariana's hands and waits for the girl to look at her before she acquiesces, "Of course we are."

She leaves out the part about how there's only so much they can do if Callie doesn't want to be found.

Mariana doesn't move, but inside she's squirming, she feels bad because she knows what she heard and she heard _everything_. She knows how Lena feels and she knows what Stef wants…it feels like her question pits them against each other, but the next one is even more underhanded.

"Why did she pick _me?_" Mariana tries to pretend it doesn't matter to her as much as it does, but she wouldn't have asked if it didn't. The Moms have no idea what Callie said though and part of Mariana is afraid that Callie was lying—that she really asked Wyatt to get Mariana's number because she thought Mariana was the one who would lie and sneak behind her Moms' backs. Mariana is wondering if that's the truth anyway, whether Callie thought of it or not. Mariana almost _did _go behind their backs again. What she really needs to know is if the Moms are thinking it too.

Stef pulls a strand of hair away from Mariana's face, "The two of you got pretty close, Love. I think Callie is missing all of us. She doesn't feel like she can talk to me or Lena and Brandon is probably not the first person on her list…"

Lena opens her mouth to add but all three are pretty sure that Jesus would have immediately gone to Lena or Stef immediately if Callie had called. No one wants to say so.

They _are_ thinking it. Fine. Mariana steps into the mess on purpose then, "I almost didn't wake you up."

Stef's fingers in Mariana's hair still and Lena looks down at the floor before tactfully replying, "But you did."

Mariana shifts uncomfortably. They don't know how close she came to keeping Callie's call to herself. Stef pulls her into a quick hug and talks over her head, "We let you hold onto your phone until Callie called because we trust you to do the right thing—and you did."

Mariana isn't a bad kid. She's made some bad choices, but so have Stef and Lena. Who hasn't?

"Did I?" Mariana can't be sure and that's the worst part.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm glad to hear the emotion is getting across and that you're all bearing with my writing style. This is actually my first time working in this style, but I know I have a strange one usually anyhow.**

**Ok, so this chapter is a bit edgy-but I did try to at least give ya'll some hope! I don't know that I'd call it happy, but...Callie's going home! I'm a bit stuck on this idea that it's no good for Callie to be dragged-that she has to choose it for herself, for her own good and for some small legal edge: if she comes back of her own volition, maybe the judge will be lenient about her parole violation. **

**What I want to know is...are you interested in going on the journey with her? Or would you rather I fast forward to her reception at the Fosters'? If I do that, I'm thinking this story will be ending sooner rather than later, lol. I never intended it to go much farther than her return and some closure in regards to Callie's precarious legal situation. **

**_Day 23 _**

**_Callie Jacobs_**

**_NYC_**

It's time to face reality: Callie Jacobs has bugs.

The runaway doesn't visibly rebel against the inner thought—it's pretty obvious to her and everyone else who walks past tonight, giving the sprawling girl a wide berth. She's stuck to 'Crack Avenue's' sidewalk like an old piece of gum, one leg nonchalantly extended, the other up with an arm draped over.

Reality check number two: Callie looks like a 15 year old boy with her crappy crop cut, baggy jeans and huge black sweatshirt. All in her favor. A strung out, male druggie on the street is a safer front than a female runaway looking to prostitute. Callie's eyes follow the few determined hookers still working their shifts, and the blatantly obvious drug dealers casing the street with their runners. As far as they're concerned, she's no threat and not worth bothering with—for all they know, she's contagious.

The urge to scratch her itchy scalp passes unfulfilled. Right now, right here, Callie's mantra is 'don't move'. She can work the dark; watching-eyes angle into a sort of ominous shroud that warns any of her fellow transients away. If she starts fidgeting, all her hard work will go out the window.

She has no money left, but she did manage to swipe an unattended backpack from the Subway. She has a change of clothes and a blanket rolled up inside, shoved behind her back against the wall she's holding up. Spending the money from the wallet that she'd found inside hadn't gotten her much more than a few, guilty; sleepless nights. Callie didn't come here to sleep. Callie picked this spot to stay awake.

There's too much energy to go around tonight; right now, she feels like Jesus must when he goes without his pills. Staying still is the hardest thing in the world—which is why Callie chooses to do it.

For four minutes—one quarter's worth of time—Callie was forced to remember that they _are_ real: the Fosters are _real_. It should be easy to forget, sitting where she's sitting, seeing what she sees. Nothing about this life should remind her of them.

Doesn't matter. They know where she is and that's enough to make her 'almost-family' feel a thousand miles closer. Callie knows that they know, and that combination is lethal. It connects her to them in a way that she's been trying to avoid. There's no big fear that they'll find her, vermin are all but impossible to completely flush out and there's plenty of places to hide. Callie is starving, grossly dirty and completely disillusioned with her 'selfless' act of abandonment because that's exactly what she's done. She's abandoned her brother.

But she still knows how to survive. That has to be worth something.

Selfishness aside, Callie can't get one phone call—one stupid, senseless phone call—off repeat. Her ears are full of Mariana, drug dealers, prostitutes, beeping car horns and Stef and Lena. It's a noxious combination that's enough to mess with anyone's head.

Headlights sweep passed and a second car stops, forcing Callie to squint into the light. Every muscle in her body is taught, ready for the infamous fight or flight response to set in but Callie doesn't move. She plays it cool, even once she's able to make out a pair of men's sneakers by her feet.

Silence makes her edgy.

Mariana's nasty inquiry bounces off the back of Callie's skull, _"What do you want?"_ The girl's throat is dry but she tries to swallow anyway and almost gags. Right now, she wants to go _home_.

"Need some money, kid?"

The whole world teeters. Callie clumsily gets to her feet, trying to see above the beam, tugging her hood up along the way. She doesn't need the backpack bad enough to risk bending down to get it. No way is she turning her back on this guy.

Instead, she borrows a page from Mariana's book, "What do you want?"

"Need you to make a drop. $25 now, $50 after. You've got 30 seconds to decide."

Drugs. Callie's face freezes into an unreadable mask. She _needs_ money. But doing this doesn't seem much different than selling herself. Moral qualms aside, if she wants to have any chance at a life—not that she has consciously considered going back—she can't afford to get arrested. This guy asking some random kid to do a drop is suspicious to begin with.

Actually—Callie watches as her arm extends like it has a mind of its own, palm up—her first thought _should_ have been that she can't afford to get arrested because it'll get her sent back. It wasn't…

Reality check number three: Callie _needs_ to go home. Not just for her brother, not for Mariana, Jesus or the Moms…definitely not for Brandon. Callie needs to go home for _Callie_.

Callie almost screams, shocked out of her moment of clarity by the feel of rough hands forcing crumpled bills into her palm. Her body jumps back, and the bills roll out of her hand, followed by angry cursing. Her back presses into the wall—not a safe position to be in.

"Um, I don't want your money." Callie swallows the thick paste in her mouth that passes for saliva, "Find someone else." She expects a beating at least, a knife or a gun at worst. When it doesn't come, Callie forces herself to walk away, fast.

Callie Jacobs has no idea where she's going, but as soon as she manages to calm down, she's sure she'll figure it out.

She wants to be at the Fosters'. Right now; no work involved. She wants someone else to do it for her. But even if she manages to find a phone, she'll still be alone for too long before anyone she cares about can get to her. And she doesn't have any money to make that call.

Callie stops, mid street and turns around, not caring about the cars that are locked in traffic on all sides. She changes direction three times before realizing that she's losing her grip. Callie is desperate for Jude. He is _her_ responsibility, he's her _life_. If he were here right now, Callie would know what to do; she'd make it her business to know.

A safe house. Callie needs someplace to hide, just for the night. She has to calm down because screaming and crying isn't going to do the trick. No matter how big a leap she takes into the deep end, it isn't going to get her anywhere she _wants_ to go. Getting noticed isn't going to bring Stef and Lena raining down on her. Callie _has_ to get it together. She knows, even as a cop gestures to her from the sidewalk, that handing herself over isn't the best answer, not while she's in this state.

"Get out of the road—kid—hey kid!"

Callie does get out of the road, on the opposite side of the street, and slows her fast pace to a crawl.

She thinks she understands what Lena was trying to say now: it's up to Callie. The teen doubles over on the corner and vomits violently into a rain trap.

_"We need you to fight for yourself, too. We're fighting with everything we have—but without you on our side, we _will_ lose."_

This is something that Callie has to do for herself. She has to make the decision to go back, not in the moment, not just once—but every second of every day that it takes to _get_ back.

Callie didn't leave because of Brandon. She didn't leave because of Jude. She left because of _Callie_ and everything that 'Callie' entails: all of the messed up shit that she's lived and everything that she's lost. Callie doesn't know how to be part of a family again; she's not sure she knows how to be happy.

It's never been about what she deserves.

It's about what she already knows, and everything that she has left to _learn_.

Dry heaves force Callie to her knees at the curb and she listens to the sound of running water beneath the grate. It's soothing, in a strange way. Her breath comes easier while the muscle spasms in her empty stomach stop—for the time being—but her eyelids are so heavy that the runaway catches herself swaying, half asleep.

New found desire to fight set aside, Callie forgoes control for the night, incapable of caring about the people around her, or being woken up by a police officer. The girl curls up on the sidewalk and lets her head hit the ground. She's tired. Tomorrow she'll fight.

In the morning, Callie Jacobs will finally find her 'Exit'. She's going to find her way out of this maze and she'll carry everyone she loves along with her. No more leaving _anyone_ behind.

Callie is going home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ok, the jury seems pretty hung so I've decided to try for a balanced 'in-between'. I think I have a pretty good plan now for the rest of the chapters. I will probably do 2-3 involving Callie's journey (which is going to get cut short-but I'm not telling why or how right now!) and to follow the pattern I already have going, a chapter about the Fosters in between each. It won't be long before Callie is reunited with her family, don't worry. This chapter was pretty difficult for me-I'm not a parent, so I'm trying my best to channel Stef and Lena as correctly as possible. Hope it worked! And...I'm going away again for a few days, so I won't be updating until next week-sorry!**

**_The Fosters_**

**_San Diego, CA_**

**_Day 25_**

"Hey," Brandon wanders deliberately into the kitchen, face unreadable. His voice is remarkably forgiving considering how badly his palms are sweating.

"Hey you," Lena shoots a look at her stepson over a bowl of shredded lettuce, not entirely convinced that this visit is as innocent as it looks. Looks can be deceiving—so they've all learned—and habit doesn't lie. Brandon never comes down this early.

"So, uh…where's Mom?" Brandon's hands migrate to his back pockets as he sways on the spot debating whether or not he wants to extend himself to helping with dinner—dinner?

"...and _what_ are you doing?"

"_I,_" Lena throws the last leaf of lettuce into her giant bowl of toss salad and whisks it off to the fridge, "am making a salad to go with dinner tonight."

"Right…" Brandon tries to give his second Mom the benefit of the doubt before he starts digging, "…at five in the morning?"

Lena just looks at him as she shuts the fridge and tries to keep the sleeves of her blazer from falling back over her wrists before she can wash her hands. Brandon knows what today is.

"It's up to you tonight to make sure _everyone_ eats it. I think you guys can manage the pasta."

Oh boy.

Brandon nods. He can make certain everyone eats and that the house doesn't get blown up. Maybe he'll throw in a mandatory roll call, just to make sure no one runs away.

"Yeah—sorry, where did you say Mom was?"

Lena turns off the faucet and turns her complete attention to Stef's biological son before giving the kid a break and leaning back to peer out of the window at her wife, "She's taking the garbage out from last night."

Right. Brandon's face shows classic guilt and he fidgets uncomfortably before rubbing the back of his neck and dropping into a chair at the kitchen island, "I should have gotten that."

The dish towel in Lena's fingers gets trapped between her palm and the lip of the counter as she waits, other hand on her hip, "Ok. What's up?" Brandon is always so easy to read.

Better yet, he's usually honest about his feelings. Lena loves him for that—her _blood pressure_ loves him for that right now.

"I'd rather wait for Mom." Brandon's eyes fall on the back door and it takes him a second to realize that his words sounded more ominous than he'd intended. Sure enough, Lena's frozen face looks petrified. Backpedaling is becoming a valuable skill, "I mean, I want to talk to you guys together—is that ok? It's nothing major."

It takes a few seconds for Lena to respond. Brandon can imagine the gears in her head turning.

"Sure. Ok. Yeah, we can wait." Lena tries to act like nothing's odd about her son requesting a parental conference in the early A.M. on a Monday, but the salad is done, the kids' lunches have been made, her argument for today's hearing is solid and unwavering and she's having a hard time concentrating on manufacturing busy work.

Brandon watches and can't help but smile and shake his head, "You can stop pretending to be busy, I'm not going to drop a bomb, I promise."

Lena stops at the stove, back to her son, with an exasperated smile on her face. He's always been a sensitive kid. Usually, she's grateful, but every now and then Lena worries that he notices a little too much. She shrugs and decides to sit—to take a moment and just sit in comfortable silence with one of her children.

Brandon frowns as Lena sits across from him: he's not on the same wave length, "You're ready early aren't you?"

The question takes Lena aback. The kids don't get up early enough to notice the changes in their Moms' routines, but she's saved by the opening of the back door and Stef's sardonic muttering, "If that bag was any heavier…Brandon." Stef has the same look on her face that Lena had a few minutes ago, "What are you doing up, Love?"

"I know you've got that hearing about the adoption today—I wanted to catch you guys before school."

Stef looks at Lena, one eyebrow raised, unconsciously rubbing the palms of her hands against her jeans; trying to work out the lines from the cutting plastic ties she just used to haul an extremely full, 13 gallon trash bag around front, to the street. She sits down next to Lena and focuses on her son, grateful for the gentle pressure of Lena's fingers on her waist beneath the counter where Brandon won't notice.

"Guys, you really need to relax." Brandon is better at convincing his Moms than he is himself.

Stef lets out an obvious breath to humor her son and spreads both hands on the island top, "We're relaxed. Now spill, what could possibly drag you out of bed this early?"

"I've…been thinking. A lot…" This isn't going the way Brandon planned. He's pretty sure he was taught to speak in full sentences as opposed to truncated fragments.

Stef bobs her head forward, "About…?"

Maybe he gets it from his Mom.

Brandon rests his wrists on the counter, both hands open and shakes it off, "I've been thinking a lot since Callie left, and I know that what we did was wrong—"

Stef's back straightens under Lena's hand, but it's a diminutive change, one that only the two Moms are aware of. They came down on Brandon for that—like they'll come down on Callie if she ever rejoins this family, but Brandon is just as adamant now as he was then and he makes sure they know it, "…but only because of our living situation. I mean, I _know_, that the state expects platonic relationships in the household. I get that. I'm sorry that I screwed it up, but I don't want that to get in the way of Callie's…"

Brandon pauses for a second to gather his suddenly scattered thoughts before he forges on, "…or Jude's chances here. I thought maybe, if the Judge gives you a hard time today because of what happened with me and Callie, that it would make sense for me to…"

This is the hard part. Brandon's been here before and it's going to be severely unpleasant.

"Brandon." Stef's tone is completely indecipherable to her son but he can tell by Lena's concerned face that it doesn't bode well.

He's not about to stop now. This is important.

"Listen, Callie and Jude deserve a home—and I have _two_." Brandon's original persuasive speech is becoming more of a plea for his Moms to see reason, forget technique, "I can live with Dad. I won't be far away, you guys can see me whenever you want, and Callie and Jude will have a home here—they'll have a _family_."

Stef's face is stone. She appreciates what her son is trying to do, he has such a big heart, but Stef will not let this separate her family. For the time being, she's incapable of a reply—she's afraid to look at Brandon because she doesn't want him to mistake what he sees in her face for anger at him or even at Callie. It's purely undirected and Stef needs a minute to quell it.

Lena lets go of her partner, giving Stef some needed time and clasps her hands on the island top between her and Brandon, "And then what Brandon? You and Callie carry on a relationship while you're at your father's house?"

This isn't the conversation to be having this morning.

"I don't…" Brandon sits back in his chair, hands falling off the table into his lap: Lena's response stings. He isn't _planning_ on starting a relationship with his potential foster sister but things don't seem to go as planned anymore, do they? Brandon can't promise that nothing will happen, no matter how badly he wants to for Callie _and_ for Jude, which is why he thought that removing himself from the house would even the odds in the eyes of the court. He hasn't considered the eyes of his _Moms_.

"B," Stef's face is strained but earnest, "This is _not_ a conversation I want to have again."

"Stef…" Lena tries to interject but the tension in her wife's partially turned body tells her this isn't a battle she wants to fight right now.

"You are still a child—a remarkable, loving, sensitive young man—and I know you want to help Callie and Jude but this is _not_ a situation you can fix by yourself or by moving in with your Dad." Stef's gesturing hand trembles on the island top as she tries her damndest to emphasize and make her son understand, "What happened between you and Callie will not happen again unless one, or both of you, is living on your own, completely independent—not under this roof, or your father's."

Lena studies the island top. She knows that Stef is going to regret the harshness of this conversation, but her wife is too emotional right now, over the thought of losing Brandon, to stop her. Maybe it's for the best.

To Brandon, every word that his mother says sounds like a nail thudding into the lid of a coffin: Callie's coffin—or his?

"Ok, maybe we should—" Lena leans back as Stef abruptly stands up, rankled by her wife's placating tone.

"_No_, Lena," Stef's unequivocal answer is drawn out as she points at her son, "_This_, this is not going to happen."

It's obvious that Stef has passed her threshold for tolerance. She's fast approaching _really_ angry and the last time that happened, Brandon walked out on her.

Lena mouths the word 'ok' and looks with strained eyes at her stepson. He's doing better than his mother.

Brandon's initial morose reaction is fading. He's mortified. Who thinks that having this kind of conversation with a woman who's just lost one child and who might be about to lose another, is a good idea?

Stef rubs her temples, pure will being the only thing capable of helping manufacture the strength to compose her emotions.

"Mom…" Brandon pauses to swallow and work out an apology that he doesn't give, "…forget I said anything. I'm not going anywhere, ok?"

Lena stands up with Brandon. He's starting to look as frazzled as his mother. Stef is in rare form and this is a state that the children are not accustomed to seeing. Lena should do something; the pain that her wife is experiencing cuts Lena too, but Brandon is their _son_.

"Brandon, why don't you go; finish getting ready—and wake Jude up for me, I want to talk to him before everyone else comes down." Lena is throwing in the towel.

Right. Brandon nods wordlessly and turns for the door, but Stef reaches an arm over the island, just out of reach. Her voice is higher, and if Brandon isn't mistaken, it's a strained: the way it gets before she's going to cry.

"…wait a minute..."

Yes, Brandon has seen his mother cry—whether she realizes or not. The divorce and aftermath were hard; Brandon saw a lot of things. It's why he understands so much.

"Come here please."

Stef's fingers beckon for her son and Lena's shoulder dips, relieved.

Brandon can't help but be a little apprehensive about such a barely restrained show of emotion but he doesn't have the heart to brush his Mother off. So, when she touches his hair and then wraps her arms around him he doesn't blame her for being the one who needs comforting—even though she _is_ the one who just went off on him.

Maybe he needs this moment as much as she does.

Lena's hand on his back confirms it. He might be the oldest—but he still needs his Moms…and _they_ need him.

"Um…"

_Both _of Lena's eyebrows go up, "Jude. What are you doing up?"

Stef is reluctant to let go of her son, but Brandon is understandably awkward standing in the kitchen holding his Mom with a 12 year-old looking on.

"I'm going to go and get ready."

Stef lets him, and Lena's hand drops from Brandon's back.

The silence prompts any kind of communication at all, "Are you hungry?"

Jude shakes his head no, and turns to watch as Brandon walks passed. He hasn't really spoken much to Brandon since the wedding. Jude hasn't spoken much to _anyone_, but he wants Brandon to know that what he just tried to do for Callie means the world.

Stef manufactures an uncomfortable smile and fixes the buttoned cuff of her sleeve, "Then, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, sweets?"

Jude looks behind him again, thinking better of his timing. But it has to be today—it has to be now.

"Can I tell you something?"

What now?

Lena and Stef remain standing, neutral but welcoming looks fixed on their faces.

"You can tell us anything, Jude. We want you to be completely comfortable in this house."

"I'm comfortable." Jude is doing an awful lot of looking around, undermining his statement.

"It's about what I'm going to say to the Judge today."

The boy is wearing Mariana's blue nail polish and the sight of Jude's painted nails is oddly relaxing. Not everything has changed.

Lena props her elbows on the high island, "Sweetie, you know you don't have to tell us what you're going to say. You'll be talking to the judge in closed chambers—that means it'll be you and him, alone."

Jude takes a deep breath, "I know what it means. I still want to tell you."

"Ok…" Stef fights the urge to send her eyes skyward. Instead, she waits, for the second time in the space of an hour, for one of her sons to say what's on his mind. Lena appears to be more optimistic. She eyes the boy with affectionate concern.

"When you were in the hospital," Jude looks at Stef and averts his eyes uncertainly, but Stef's sentimental smile is encouraging so he keeps going, "I told Callie that it reminded me of Mom."

The hearts of both women go out to the orphaned boy.

"And…" Jude licks his lips. His mouth is dry when he looks at Lena, "you were _so_ scared, but I didn't want you to be scared like me and Callie were when Mom died. I didn't want you to be alone."

It's Lena's turn to try and keep from crying. Stef doesn't know where this is going—if she did, she wouldn't be waiting. Jude would be in her arms in a heartbeat.

He's losing his stamina. Jude wants this to be over already, but he can't stop now, not yet.

"I'm really happy here—and I know you don't think so, but Callie was too."

The little boy's insight is unexpected.

"I just wanted you to know that."

Stef starts to say something but Jude interrupts her, "…because I'm going to tell the judge that I can't stay here."

"What?" The word escapes from Lena's mouth before she can fully process Jude's statement or her own emotional reaction.

Jude starts to ramble on, even as Lena's head starts shaking, "…but it's ok, because Stef didn't die and you're not alone and Jesus and Mariana are better and Brandon's not going to go anywhere…and I need to be with Callie."

…magic words from the mouth of a 12 year-old boy that wants his sister and thinks this is the best way to get her back.

"Jude…"

"No, _really_. It's ok. When Callie comes back, we can go to another foster home—and we can see you if it's close, right? It's _ok_."

The boy's face is beaming, as though it's already set and Callie's in the next room; a home waiting for them across the street. He turns to go back upstairs and change—to take one more look at the room he shares with Jesus and to grab his little backpack that holds all of his belongings, but Jude is Callie's brother. He's smart, just like she is. He knows what he's doing and that it isn't fair to the Fosters or to himself. As much as he loves this house and needs these people, he just can't take the guilt anymore. Jude catches a glimpse of his blue nails as he half-turns for one last sentence, "I just…thought you had a right to know."

He'll take the nail polish off after he sees the judge and he won't be putting it on again.

Jude is out of sight before Stef and Lena can even begin to formulate a response.

"What the _hell_, is going on?" Stef doesn't give a shit about her language.

For once, neither does Lena.

Finally, Stef finds the strength to turn to her wife who is still staring at the empty transom, "When did we _completely_ lose control?"

Lena doesn't have an answer. Her jaw cocks, it's the best she can do. At least the tears are slow and silent.

Stef's hands turn Lena's face and bring their foreheads together, "Whatever happens in chambers today…I love you—I love this family and that little boy…and tomorrow, I'm flying to NYC."


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm so sorry about the cliffhanger! It's a terrible habit of mine, I just can't help it. Sorry for the long wait as well: after my trip, sickness set in and I wasn't too up for figuring out Miss Callie. I do feel like I ought to explain my reasoning behind Jude's reaction in the last chapter, but bear with me, I'm working on that in another chapter. I hope this one holds up to scrutiny, I'm still a little under the weather, but I think it's a fair representation of Callie and eventually her relationship with Wyatt. Thanks for reading everyone!**

**_Callie Jacobs_**

**_Indiana_**

**_Day 26_**

_What are you afraid of?_

Every time she closes her eyes, Callie begs the question and every time, she has a different answer. There are _so many_ of them.

Right now, she's a little afraid a tornado is going to cut through the sheeting rain that is, for all intensive purposes, already drowning her, and sweep her off to some unpopulated flatland that she'll never find her way back from. Metaphorically speaking, she's worried that seeing Wyatt again is going to do the same thing. Then again, maybe she won't _see_ Wyatt—Callie squints from under her hood, trying to make out something; anything in this storm. ..

The souls of her sneakers flop freely, hanging by a thread as she clomps through a puddle. This is worse than running. Having a destination is proving to be the worst possible scenario. When there's somewhere to go, you run the risk of not making it. Callie can think of any number of things standing in her way—namely herself. She doesn't know what she wants. Any attempt to force the life sucking ache wrapped around her spine into useful expression results in screaming frustration and an aching itch that Callie can't soothe. Something about it drives her—and turns her around daily. Ten steps forward and nine steps back.

Almost eight hundred ridiculous miles, and three very long days later, Callie is finally somewhere that she wants to be: if only she knew _exactly_ where that is. She fell asleep in the car at an unremarkable point in her driver's obviously exaggerated story about his personal life, and missed the exit sign. He was a nice enough man—or he tried to be—nice enough, at any rate, to have picked her up in West Virginia and given her a ride this far.

She's been walking for hours, since before dawn, with no idea if she's going in the right direction; too determined…or maybe too ashamed, to duck into any of the businesses along the way and beg to use a phone.

Desperation: it's the feeling; the one that Callie can't express. She's trapped by it. Callie wants to run from it—but she knows it will never go away. Still, the desperation—or maybe it's the rain, cools her soaked skin and the hair on her arms stands up, sending shivers out over the rest of her body. Callie shakes like a dog.

"This's crazy." At least it's only been raining for the last forty-five minutes. Callie is soaked and cold, at the end of her rope; if she had a watch she'd be checking it every sixty seconds—like she has a deadline. Callie draws her own personal line in the sand at Speedway. She loiters for a minute under the roof that extends to the gas pumps and gives a passing thought to the bank next door. The image of herself in a ski mask with a fake gun in her pocket holding up the tellers warns her that she might be losing control—a passing, fancy: a delirious one. Callie sways on the spot, grateful for the shelter, knowing that this is as far as she's going to make it.

Losing control doesn't have to be a bad thing. The smell of gasoline triggers Callie's morbid appreciation for the journey: hasn't she been _courting_ rock bottom all this time? Callie doesn't _want_ to be responsible for Jude. Clearly, she isn't up to the task. She doesn't want to wear this face—the one that she's created for moments just like this: when she's terrified and so alone that all she wants is for someone to _see_ it…while all she knows to do is make sure that no one does. It makes her mad: at the people who can't see; at herself for not being able to change.

It takes a minute—or maybe it's been a few—for Callie to realize that there are several people at the pumps staring. They seem reluctant to enter the attached store, as if they're waiting for her to go in and come out or just leave already. Right. She looks pretty bad. Maybe they think she's going to stick up the station.

Callie rolls her eyes at her own fiction and tugs on both glass doors, using all of her dwindling body weight to drag them open. She is _so_ weak…and clumsy. The fuzz that's taken up permanent residence in the reasoning part of her brain must be spreading to the cognitive part. Callie sees the rack of candy before the counter but she bumps it anyway.

"Sorry."

She isn't winning any points with the young cashier behind the counter. He won't even come around the front to pick up the candy.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Maybe." Callie tries to get it together, to make a coherent sentence into a persuasive request, "I need a phone."

She fails, miserably and wonders if her voice sounds as strange to her companion as it does to her. It's thick and slowed by Callie's clumsy, sticky mouth.

The long faced teen looks at Callie like she has three heads before he remembers, "I think there's an old payphone in the back…"

God, she hates those things. They're vindictive: mocking her lack of capital. They could get her what she needs, but for a price. They piss Callie off, along with a million other things these days. They're so outdated and this kid is so naïve if he can't figure out what's going on here. Callie doesn't have the energy to be mean, and she can't cry either, no matter how much she'd like to—not because she's too proud, but because her body doesn't have enough liquid left to let her waste it on tears. A meager attempt at sarcasm is all she can manage.

"Are you sure it still works?"

The idea doesn't seem to have occurred to the uncomfortable clerk. Callie decides to cut him a break, "No, seriously, I don't have any money. I just need to make _one_ phone call. Please, I don't have any way to get home. I just want to call someone to come pick me up."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what she's asking.

The entry bell dings, ending the cashier's hesitation and giving him a false sense of confidence as another patron walks into the station, heading for the coolers in the back. Safety in numbers—and isn't altruism supposed to be a credit?

Callie waits—not patiently per se—but she doesn't really have the energy or the foothold to be anything else. Right now, in this moment, reality is very closely wound around her. Callie is _here_, nowhere else. The thick soupy air that is smothering everyone at this service area is just a reminder. The Fosters are _not_ here. They're not anywhere near. There's no connection.

Her new 'friend' conspiratorially waves her around to the side of the counter, away from the register and hands her the cordless phone that he's been carting around the tiny store in his apron pocket, "Make it quick, ok?"

Callie ignores his disgusted look as she struggles to keep from dropping the phone while her clumsy fingers dial. What does she care? Oh but she does. She wishes he wouldn't look at her like that. Callie is spoiling for a fight—unfortunately she doesn't think she'd be able to finish what she started.

It's ringing.

Callie is changing and in her mind, so have the Fosters. Callie can't imagine them here or being with them. Even her brother is fading. She can't picture his face anymore, or resurrect the sound of Jude's voice.

…it's _still_ ringing.

He isn't going to answer. Then that's it. Eight hundred miles is Callie's limit. She tried. Callie can rest easy, knowing that she _tried_.

"Hello?"

Wyatt…he answered.

She doesn't have to know Jude's face by heart—Callie knows what it feels like to have a brother. She will always know what it feels like to sacrifice for him; and to hurt him. Needing something or someone isn't something that can be forgotten, it isn't a conscious choice. Neither are Callie's feelings about Wyatt. Swallowing is painful, but Callie forces herself to speak to the boy who's already done so much for her.

"Wyatt? It's Callie. I'm in Indiana—I know, I can explain, I'm sorry—will you pick me up? Please?" Callie adds the last out of exhausted desperation. If Wyatt says no, if she's alienated him so completely, Callie doesn't know what she'll do. Wyatt is her early indicator. If she can't make things right with him, how can she possibly expect to work things out with the Fosters?

Oh.

Callie glances over at the cashier, contemplating the question that Wyatt has just asked before she decides to focus on the customer at the counter, "Excuse me—where are we, exactly?"

The customer looks at Callie with the same bewildered, confused look as the cashier, "You're in Zionsville."

Callie's eyes must look glassy or maybe she looks stupefied, because the customer shifts uncomfortably before adding as if he isn't sure, "On Oak Street? By the Boon Village Center…"

Callie doesn't know if Wyatt knows where that is and she doesn't care. He'll figure it out. Doesn't make much difference at this point; Callie can't help herself anymore.

"Thanks." She doesn't ask how long it will take him to get to her. It doesn't matter. Callie plans to go outside, throw herself on the ground against one of the big garbage cans she saw by the entrance and let her eyes close. Wyatt will see her when he gets here. Or he won't. Whatever.

_What are you afraid of?_

Callie's afraid that Wyatt will come for her. She's afraid that he won't. She's afraid of whom he'll find—who she'll be by the time he gets here.

"Thanks," Callie repeats herself as the phone passes from her hand back to the Clerk's side of the counter because she doesn't have the faculties right now to string a longer sentence together, but before she can make it to the front door, the costumer at the register calls out to her, "Hey, kid, are you hungry?"

Yes. Callie is _very_ hungry...and thirsty.

* * *

Callie can't do this. She _is_ doing this.

The girl wouldn't let Wyatt touch her after he finally managed to slap her awake at the gas station. Scared him half to death too—but Callie wouldn't go with Wyatt until she'd thrown up in the garbage can behind her, violently. She shouldn't have eaten, not as much as she had, not after starving for so long. Food makes her sick. Water, Callie needed water in more ways than one. She didn't like Wyatt seeing her in this state. Threatening to go AWOL was the only thing that kept Wyatt from driving her straight to a hospital. He had to carry her to his car…and Callie had enough presence to wonder, would Brandon have done the same thing?

She knows the answer. Brandon would have taken her to a hospital, threats or no threats. He wouldn't have understood why she needed to take her chances; why fighting through this, regardless of the consequences, was so important to her. Brandon would have told her that she _had_ to take this seriously—_had_ to take her own wellbeing s_eriously_. Brandon wouldn't have gambled with her life, not after what happened in Tijuana.

Wyatt respects Callie's wishes—this time, it doesn't cost her. This time, it saves her. Callie and Wyatt are so different. She hates that she used him—that she's _still_ using Wyatt. Some things never change. In this case, the thought isn't a comfort.

Callie lets go of her knees to swipe at her dripping nose as Wyatt's showerhead rains down on her. You'd think she'd be sick of getting soaked. You'd think she'd be finished by now—shouldn't it be easier? Why is she sitting in Wyatt's shower, still fully clothed, and thinking about running again?

The sound of a quiet knock and the hesitant turn of the bathroom doorknob sends Callie's face into her knees and sucks the air out of her lungs. Don't come in here.

"I got you some clothes…" Wyatt's voice disappears behind the freshly closed door and Callie bites her lip, face pale and wavering. She's doing her best not to make any noise. She has to stand up. Or she could sit here and drown. Whatever decision she makes, she can't make a sound—if she starts, it'll escalate into wailing and Wyatt doesn't need his neighbors to think he's shacking up with a Banshee. For that matter, Callie doesn't want to wake his grandmother up either.

After all this time, all these years, and Callie still hasn't learned how to be alone with herself. Without distraction, she feels vulnerable. She is in _here_, all by herself. She doesn't have to worry about a roof over her head, or food in her stomach, for now. Callie doesn't have to worry about Jude—she has to worry about Callie. It's an uncomfortable feeling. Callie used to think she was solid. It doesn't feel that way now.

She stands and peels off her sodden sweatshirt, dropping it into the corner of the shower. Callie moves like a robot, pulling off pieces of clothing and letting them sit until she stands under the shower spray, completely naked with a pile of bug infested clothes at her feet. Her toes curl, subconsciously trying to retreat from the disgusting mess. She wants to hurl again, but Callie holds it in and turns her face to the spray of warm water. Her shins ache with the strain of holding her body upright so soon, but the thought of being _clean_ finally seems like enough of a motivator to make Callie move. She washes on autopilot. When Callie reaches for her hair, it's almost too much—touching air is devastating. Reaching for something that you thought would be there, but isn't, is demoralizing. It's distressing—destructive.

Callie's body falls against the shower wall and she jams her knuckles into her teeth to keep from yelling. What is she doing here? This is a mistake.

Jude. She can't even say she's going back for Jude, because she isn't. Callie doesn't know _why_ she's doing this.

_"…without you on our side, we _will_ lose…_"

Callie wants to rip Lena to shreds for saying those words. They are what set all of this in motion, and they are the ultimate bar—that Callie knows she can't rise above. Stef and Lena are good people; genuinely _good_. Saying that they don't care about Callie is worse than an insult, its complete assassination of character and Callie can't _do_ that. Why can't she do that?

Callie wants to be on their side, but being on their side means being on her own too and Callie has never been there. Come to think of it, Jude may be the only living person who knows what Callie's side consists of. For the first time, Callie wonders what's there—she wonders what Jude found, that Callie has never been able to see. There are no answers for her.

Getting out of the shower is _hard_. Knowing that she has to take care of her bugs make it that much harder.

The blue duffel bag that Callie finds on the bathroom floor when she finally brings herself to step out of the tub burns her from the inside out.

Wyatt kept it. He kept her things after she took off without telling him; without a note; without a 'thank you' or a 'sorry'. Callie's legs won't support her for much longer. At the moment, she doesn't mind falling to her knees at Wyatt's absent feet; thanking him silently, but profusely for being exactly who he is—now _and_ before…

One more for Callie's side: her grimace can't be stopped. How has she repaid him?

Callie doesn't bother to dry off before hunting for the zipper on the blue duffel while water drips down her back and from her chin.

Clothes. Familiar, _clean_ clothes. Callie's clothes.

The water dripping from her face isn't from the shower anymore. Callie has lost all sense of perspective. They're just clothes. But they're more than that; they're a tangible product of her friendship with Wyatt. The ache doesn't go away, it flares, but somehow, it's more bearable knowing that Wyatt hasn't written her off. Callie needed something from him—she didn't know it—and he's given it to her: hope.

Callie hiccups between watery breaths as her hand hits something hard beneath the fabrics.

The teen rocks back on her heels with a cell phone in her palm: _the_ cell phone.

This is it. Or at least, it _could_ be it. Three and a half inches of screen take Callie's breath away. This is her lifeline.

…and she's dripping on it.

Callie scrambles to dry the phone with the towel Wyatt left for her, carefully setting it on top of the laundry basket away from the shower, away from the sink and away from Callie. The girl takes a deep breath, thoroughly charged, and opens the door wide enough to poke her head through, "Wyatt? Do you have any Mayonnaise?"

Wyatt is sitting on his bed, hands behind his head; as nonchalant as possible, but Callie bites back a grin as he jumps, completely unsettled by her verbal intrusion. He's trying so hard to be calm.

"Now you want a sandwich?"

Callie rolls her eyes, "Nice. Just get it for me, will you."

It's an old way—a cheaper way, of getting rid of lice that her mother taught her when Jude came home with it in grade school. The thought of her mother is distant, less concrete than a ghost. Callie frowns as she swamps her short hair with Mayo and ties a plastic bag over her head. She's lost track of her past, her mother, her father…the accident; Liam, Tijuana, the Fosters. Is she anything like her mother? No, Callie doesn't think so, but her mother might understand who Callie has become and why. The strange idea that Callie's mother might actually be _proud—_of certain aspects—of her daughter's personality, makes the runaway stand a little taller and feel a little less shaky. Take away this mistake—this gigantic, all encompassing fuck up…and Callie might have been proud of who she was too. All of this time, she didn't think she had a chance: Callie never believed she had a future. Only Jude—his future is the only one she's seen and it's so encompassing that Callie doesn't have the heart to mar it with the agony of her total departure. What was she thinking?

Callie might look ridiculous with this bag over her head, she might really be completely unstable but she feels a hell of a lot cleaner and for now, that's enough to make her giddy.

Wyatt isn't in his room when Callie finishes, but the bedroom window is wide open so Callie does her best to stay upright on protesting legs as she makes the walk of shame from one end of the room to the other and leans out. He's on the roof. Talk about hostile acts.

"Do you have a death wish or something?" Callie is joking, but her bare foot slips on the shingles as she tries to climb out. Normally, this would be easy.

Wyatt doesn't help. He does watch though, just in case. Still, she isn't off the hook.

Callie decides it's safer to sit where she is instead of trying to make her way to Wyatt. Damn him if he won't come to her.

"You look ridiculous—I hope you have to wear that for _days._ It would go great with that dress." He's referring to the dress Callie wore at Mariana's Quinceañera. The memory is a well deserved barb, but Callie fakes a moment of humor and tosses a stick at her friend.

"Thanks." She isn't referring to the insult and Wyatt knows it.

His tone is as serious as it can be with such a short, simple answer, "Yeah."

Callie follows his gaze, out across the roof tops of his new town and at the expanse of what's supposed to be his new life. She wants to ask how it's going, but it seems callous to expect Wyatt to let her back in so easily after everything she's done. Callie is beginning to realize that she has a lot to apologize for; a lot to make up for. There isn't time, not with Wyatt. This is just a way station, like so many that she and Jude passed through before. This is the first one that really, really hurts. So, Callie doesn't ask him how he's been and he doesn't ask her what she's done.

"Didn't think I'd hear from you again…"

Callie's face scrunches as she tries to consider where he's coming from. She never intended to contact him again, when she left. She thought that was obvious. Wyatt knew, even without the details, what she was about when he let her get into his car. She assumed that he was on the same page.

"Why?" It's a fair question to ask—Wyatt clearly wants to talk about it.

Wyatt's hand runs through his hair. At least that hasn't changed. He's still the messy-sexy 'hair model' that Callie knew in San Diego.

"I called Lena. You know, I didn't know what else to do—"

Callie cuts him off, nodding her head and looking down at the shingles, "I know. It's cool. I talked to them."

Wyatt seems surprised. Clearly the communication loop doesn't travel both ways. A sympathetic twinge in Callie's chest makes her hate the look of masked anguish on Wyatt's face because it makes her feel guiltier than she already does.

"You did? So…are you going back?"

Callie opens her mouth to reply but she can't seem to get that one word out—the only one that matters right now. She wants to say yes. Just yes. Instead, she says, "I'm trying."

Wyatt watches her. She doesn't care if he disapproves. But he doesn't say, either way. His huge sigh seems like a concession though, as he stands up to move next to Callie.

"Do they know?"

Callie looks at Wyatt, and out at the world that she's crossed more of in the past month than she has her entire life. She hasn't really seen it though. It's different when you're in the thick of it; life is easy to miss that way. Up here, right now; from a distance, it's beautiful.

"No. I don't want to tell them yet. I'm not sure I'll make it," Callie tries to shrug as if it doesn't matter, "and I don't want to hurt them anymore than I already have."

"You realize that's like, an 'erroneous' statement, right? I'm pretty sure they hurt _more_ everyday worrying about you. You didn't just uproot _your_ life, when you left." Callie has no words to match Wyatt's petulant accusation, she just lets him continue. "You could give them some hope at least."

Callie knows Wyatt is right, but she isn't ready to admit that, "If I tell them—if I tell Jude I'm coming home, and then I don't make it…"

"Then you _really_ break your little brother's heart." Wyatt's voice sounds so cold, but Callie chooses to believe that he's just being blunt, "So, _don't_ mess up."

Wyatt says it as if it's that simple. Watching him look out over the town, Callie can almost believe him.

The question comes as a surprise, even to Callie, "Did you call them tonight?"

Wyatt takes a startled second to decide if he should be defensive, or if he has a right to get pissed. He settles for grumpy, "I thought about it. Probably should."

Callie re-circles her folded legs with her arms and rests her chin on her knees, listening to the noncommittal tone in Wyatt's punishing voice. She can almost pretend that they're still in San Diego and that nothing has changed: that she didn't kiss Brandon, and Wyatt hasn't moved; that they're still who they were a couple months ago. It's too much to ask for.

"Listen…" Callie starts and knows how to finish. Words have a habit of coming to her when they're right, "I know what I put you through, in Cali—and asking you to bring me out here with you—I don't know if it's worse for you, having me acknowledge it and apologize, or if it would be easier for both of us if I were really so self involved that I had no idea what I was doing…but you are the best friend I've ever had. I'm sorry I used you," Callie's eyebrows go up as she cynically corrects herself, "I'm sorry I'm _still_ using you."

If he's even listening, Wyatt clearly isn't going to make this easy. Callie tugs on his shoulder, "Thank you: for keeping my duffel bag. Thanks for wanting me to be happy. Thank you…for coming to get me today. I don't know if I would have done the same."

Wyatt turns his head, just enough to see over his shoulder and through his hair, "You would have." She already has. Callie kept him going—she understood something that no one else wanted to, "And for the record—I was a willing participant, so, if your new Mom wants to lock me up as an accessory, you know where I am."

Callie swallows an unexpected laugh, ignoring the twinge of grief that comes with Wyatt's choice of words. It feels wrong to laugh.

Wyatt nudges her, gently at first, with his elbow, and then harder—"You know I went through your underwear, right?"—until Callie loses her balance and falls onto her side, laughing. Wrong or right—Callie laughs anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry about the long wait everyone! Between school starting up again, and all the other writings I'm working on, I've been a little reluctant to continue with this. It kinda feels like I'm falling off the wagon a bit-but hopefully it's still accurate! I don't want to disappoint. I think there will be 1 and 1/2 chapters of Callie's journey left and one more of the Fosters before they reunite. It's probably going to take some time for me to update though, bear with me!**

**_The Fosters_**

**_San Diego, CA_**

**_Day 27_**

"What's wrong? Did they cancel your flight?" Stef is supposed to leave for NY tonight.

The kids are _here_, under Lena's thumb; they're fine. Which means this is about Callie…or something else that the Foster family is completely unprepared for.

Stefanie Foster hasn't stood outside Anchor Bay like _this_, waiting on Lena, since the day Stef told family and friends that she was a lesbian. Seeing a squad car parked out front could be alarming for students and staff—Lena doesn't care.

_Lena_ is the one who's alarmed.

Stef breathes in, heavily, and comes away from her squad car, forgoing the comfortable back support and stepping up onto the sidewalk, "No." Stef 'hmphs' to herself, acknowledging a flat joke that only she knows, "but we _will_ be needing a refund for that ticket."

Lena doesn't understand why Stef glances around, as if she's searching for watchers. She hasn't behaved this way in a long time.

"Why?"

"I landed a traffic stop today…" Stef looks around one last time—not looking for prying eyes, Lena realizes, but avoiding meeting _hers_—before she unhooks the cell phone from her belt and taps the screen to bring up the keyboard.

"…and I didn't answer."

It's moments like this that help Lena to understand Mariana's attitude better. She recognizes the stiffness in her wife's posture and the underlying tone in Stef's voice. The attitude isn't directed at Lena. For Stef, and often enough for Mariana—it's defensive.

The second the phone leaves Stef's hand, her arms cross. Lena holds it to her ear, waiting for the voicemail.

_"Stef…it's Callie. Look…I, uh, I don't really know what I'm supposed to say here—I wasn't sure I should call at all, but…I'm trying. I mean, I'm trying to get back. I know you and Lena would rather pick me up, but I'm not going to tell you where I am. I need to do this myself, I have to be sure that I _can_ do this. So…I guess…I'm not asking you to keep this from Jude. It's up to you guys, I trust you to do what's best for him…because I can't."_

Stef rocks on her heels, waiting for the message to finish, and for Lena's face to register something: _any_ kind of response. After a long pause Callie's voice continues, less flat and much quicker, wavering with anxiety.

_"Will you tell Lena that I _am_ fighting? It's rough, but so far, I think I'm winning. I think _we're_ winning. So…that's it. And—thank you: for everything you've done for me and Jude."_

The phone slips from Lena's ear and her eyebrows go up as she looks down at it, checking to make sure it's real before she hands it back to her wife. It takes a second for Lena to clear her throat, "Do you think she'll make it?"

Lena isn't surprised, but she can't articulate why. Her heart steps up the pace, imagining Callie out there, on the road back…but it isn't excitement. It isn't even hope. Lena has no idea what this is—a dreadful numbness seems to accompany the concept. Maybe it's because Lena can't afford to feel the fear. Maybe it's because she doesn't know _what_ she's supposed to feel.

Stef's head tilts back, just short of a prayer for salvation. Instead, she barks out a humorless laugh, "I have no idea. What I do know is that she's no longer in New York. She called from the cell _we_ gave her and we know she left that phone, along with her bag, with Wyatt before they made it to Indiana."

They _do_ know that. Which means…

"Callie has already made it as far as Wyatt's grandmother's house in Indiana."

Stef's nod is precise. She knows Lena will be making a phone call the second she gets back inside. She reiterates, "My plane ticket: we need a refund."

NY is a dashed hope. Stef wants a damned refund for _that_. She's angry; furious with herself for not having gone sooner. She should have left after the first call from Callie regardless of common sense or what Lena thought was prudent. Stef _should_ have answered her phone.

"I'll take care of it, but, can we focus on the positive? Callie is ok, she must have seen Wyatt, we have an idea of where she's been; possibly where she is…and she's trying to get back to us. All good things…"

Stef won't disagree with Lena. She _doesn't_ disagree, but the thin line that serves as her mouth at the moment says something else altogether.

"What is it?" Lena can see; she'd have to be blind to miss the anger radiating from her partner's body.

Stef settles for the less confrontational admission, "I should have answered. All I had to do was look down and see who was calling…"

"Stef," Lena shakes her head and reaches for her wife's shoulders, "Callie left a message. If she was willing to do that, she'll probably call back at some point. This is not something you could have controlled—you were doing your job, which is _dangerous_, your head was in the game—where it _needed_ to be."

Stef isn't one hundred percent willing to be comforted; to be convinced; she can't climb on the bandwagon, "I called her back: it must have been ten times or more. No answer. GPS isn't working," It takes conscious effort to redirect the scalpel in her voice so that it doesn't cut Lena, "which means the phone is off now. I should have gone the first time—" Stef shuts her mouth abruptly. She feels like she's fighting with her father: not really arguing at all, because she's internalized the other half of this battle. She's fighting herself.

Lena stands completely still. Her wife's voice is remarkably sharp. It's impossible to miss the underlying implications. Lena should have let her go. Maybe Stef is right. Maybe she should have.

_Maybe_.

Lena's arms cross and the two women stand, watching each other, knowing without words; each of them riding a different roller coaster of emotion, running from and trying to catch blame, anger, love, fear…hope. Two separate battles with only one conclusion.

There's no complaint when Stef wraps her arms around Lena in front of the school; in front of Stef's squad car: it doesn't matter who sees.

One touch isn't enough to make anything better, but it's enough for now, to keep both mothers standing—together and apart.

* * *

Jude doesn't bear thinking about. Lena watches through the blinds in her office as her wife's squad car pulls away from the front. She hasn't turned the lights on and even with the sunlight streaming in the office is still off color, tainted by shadows. How are they going to explain to him? If Callie knew what was happening in her absence…

Lena sinks into her chair as soon as Stef is out of sight and sits, without moving, cell phone in hand, it's screen blank. Jude is not happy. The boy didn't have his way in court—then again, neither did Stef and Lena. The mothers managed to convince the judge that the boy needs time to adjust to his sister's absence; they managed to convince him of how much Jude is loved and how important the family structure in the Fosters' household is for him. Allowing Jude to deprive himself of safety and stability made no sense. They tried to make an argument for happiness as well, but as Jude has proven, it's nearly impossible to stop someone who's determined to be miserable. The boy isn't uncivil. He isn't getting in trouble and acting out. Jude isn't _anything_.

The screen lights up as Lena's thumb swipes to unlock her phone and she absently scrolls through the contacts, unaware of what she's doing. She should be calling Wyatt…but the number that she dials belongs to Callie.

That numbness is back, along with a sneaking worry that Lena has a hard time stomaching. She isn't sure that what she's doing is wise, because she has no idea what she intends to say. She's felt like this before—with Mariana, after Stef was shot and with Callie after she exposed Brandon _and_ Stef to danger. Callie is hurting Lena's family; every part of Lena is primed to protect it. Still, Lena hates this feeling. She hates knowing that she's angry; that she's capable of laying blame at her child's feet and she hates that she has such a hard time dismantling this noxious form of judgment.

Lena gets Callie's voicemail.

* * *

"Hey, do you know where Jesus went?" Marianna is hesitant to step into her brothers' room these days. Jude has taken up residence on his bed and it's rare when he ventures into the rest of the house. He's waiting, spending his days as if he doesn't care when they run out.

Jude shakes his head, never looking away from his math book and blank notebook. He hasn't completed a single problem and he probably won't, not without help. Jude is beyond caring about his grades. He never had what it takes to keep up in a school like Anchor Bay anyway. Still, he doesn't mind the challenge for now—it keeps him busy. Jude would rather think about math then the mess he's gotten himself into…without Callie.

Simplify: (25x24)2-3

Apparently, Callie isn't the only one who messes up.

Jude doesn't even realize that Mariana is still in the doorway. The teenager watches Jude, silently fighting with herself. She should say something; do something. It's not her job though, right? What can she possibly say?

The judge listened. The judge _heard_ Jude. Then he _dismissed_ him. Stef and Lena won. Jude doesn't like thinking of his Foster mothers that way—as if he's fighting against them. It is what he's doing though. It's harder than the boy thought it would be. Violent rebellion isn't in him. He doesn't want to hurt them: Jude hasn't mastered the art of acting out. All he has to do is be _mean_. If that doesn't work, he could always run, like Callie. But he can't do it, even though the judge's dismissal feels like a death sentence in regards to Jude's absent sister. _She_ has always taken care of him. If Jude stays with the Fosters, Callie won't _have_ to. She'll be right. Callie will think that she's made everything better by leaving and staying away. She'll never come back.

For so long, Callie was the only person Jude had. She's the only constant he can remember. He won't stay here, and lose her. Jude doesn't know how to do that. He's mad, he's _so_ mad that he has to choose. For the first time, he's found something he needs as much as he needs his sister. Making the choice felt impossible, but he made it…and was completely shot down. Now, he's in limbo—floating somewhere between depression and fear, anger and grief mixed in. It's his fault. But isn't it Callie's too?

Jude feels like he has nowhere to turn, because of the choice he's made. It occurs to him that maybe Callie feels the same way, but there's no one to ask. Jude is stuck in a trap of his own making.

The bed dips next to him and the boy tries to hide his complete lack of attention and surprise. He doesn't look over at Mariana, but he can't pretend to scribble an answer to his math problem either.

"You have to do the parentheses first," Mariana tries to open neutrally. She's not her moms; she isn't very good at this.

Jude nods and adds the powers together, writing in his notebook.

(29)2-3

He can finish on his own now that someone's told him how to start. The boy has instructions to show his work.

"Are you going to come downstairs tonight?" Mariana shifts on the uncomfortable bed, watching the boy scratch out his equation.

(29)2-3 = 26

Jude shakes his head and flips the page to the next problem.

"You're really starting to freak moms out."

There, she's said it, even if it is a little dishonest. Jude is starting to freak _everybody_ out.

The boy doesn't say anything; Mariana feels like she's talking to a wall. She doesn't know if this is all because of Callie's disappearing act or if something happened in court, "I talked to her."

Jude's pencil stills but he still doesn't look at Mariana. The girl takes a deep breath and swallows. She's jumping in head first, "I didn't give moms the phone right away. Callie talked to me first. She wanted me to tell you something."

Jude's skin flushes and he feels hot. There are goose bumps all over his skin; he doesn't feel well at all, but he can't talk, not yet, because if he does, he's afraid he'll scream at Mariana. His fingers hold the pencil so tight, they turn white.

Mariana doesn't really know what good this will do. What Callie said to her didn't seem all that important—next to all of the angst Callie's actions have caused, her words seem cheap.

Finally, Jude speaks and Mariana is surprised to hear a little bit of venom in his voice, "And you waited this long to tell me."

She isn't prepared to answer for that. Mariana never had any intention of telling Jude what Callie said because she's afraid he would magically figure out everything else too. She was being selfish. So, Mariana decides to curtail the defensive option, as difficult as it is, and she looks away, "She said that she's ok…and that she'll figure it out."

"What does _that_ mean?" Jude asks.

Mariana assumed that he would know, but the way he asks his question, half panicked—as if he _should_ know but doesn't—and half desperate, makes her think twice before saying she has no clue.

"I don't think Callie really knows why she left," Mariana is remembering something that Lena said to her once. She remembers how right those words were even though they made Mariana feel absolutely shallow and painfully sorry.

Jude is looking at her, listening like he hasn't in a while. He's not shutting Mariana out, or her words. She's done it now—she's in, and she has to do this right. If Mariana gets just _one_ thing right, she wants it to be this; for Jude and for Callie: for her Moms…for her _family_.

"I don't think she left because of you, or Liam…or Brandon." Mariana doesn't know if she's right, "I think she was really scared." Mariana fights back the emotional flood, because she knows, that Callie was completely right. She finally understands why Callie asked _her_ to tell Jude—because Mariana knows _exactly_ why Callie left. "You and Callie…you had everything taken away from you." Mariana shutters, trying not to let her voice shake, "but Moms want to give you something back."

Mariana remembers the day that she and her brother first met Stef. She wanted that lollipop, she really did—but so long as it was attached to Stef, she wasn't about to take it. Jesus had to take it for her. It took a long time for Mariana to trust them and…Mariana couldn't stop a tear from escaping, she still doesn't. She doesn't trust them completely, because Mariana doesn't trust herself.

"I don't think Callie knows how to…_have_, this…" Mariana struggles for words, "She can't forgive herself for everything that's gone wrong, even if it wasn't her fault." Callie is blameless compared to Mariana. Liam wasn't Callie's fault, Tijuana wasn't Callie's fault…Mrs. Jacob's death wasn't Callie's fault and neither is her father's imprisonment.

Stef got _shot_ because of Mariana.

"I think…when you're in the system, like us…even when everything is perfect…you're always waiting for it to get torn out from under you and if it doesn't…it's like…" Mariana looks up at the ceiling, "I think Callie has to figure out that she's not returnable. I think she _is_ figuring that out. There has to be a way—other than ripping up the receipt," Mariana smiles at Jude through her tears, "to really _believe_ that everything's going to be ok. Maybe it doesn't make sense to us," Mariana shrugs and nudges Jude with her shoulder. At least he looks thoughtful, "but Callie has to choose this family. She has to do it because she wants it for herself, not just for you."

Jude nods thoughtfully, "She left…so she could choose to come back?"

Mariana's face says that Jude's interpretation bears more consideration, "Maybe."

Jude says with more conviction and a small smile—more as a reward for Mariana's attempt, then a definite feeling of betterment, "She _is_ coming back."

There's nothing to say to that, so Mariana doesn't.

"…if Callie has to choose…then so do I."

Mariana tries to hold onto her composure, "I thought you already did." She doesn't know what Jude said to the judge.

"Me too," Jude's face crumbles in abject terror. What has he done? Can he take it back? Does he have to? The judge already denied his request. Jude is still here. He's still here, and all he's been doing is trying to figure out how to get sent away. Jude doesn't want to get sent away. He looks at Mariana and his smile slowly becomes real. He's pretty sure the Fosters don't want him to go either. That judge gave Jude his future back.

Mariana—his _sister_—gave him his choice back.

"So…dinner?" Mariana's nose wants to run so badly. Why does your body have to go haywire when you cry? She won't let it.

"Yeah," Jude starts to slide off the bed, math homework forgotten.

"Whoa…" Mariana almost falls over when the boy throws his arms around her neck, squeezing hard. It takes her a second to hug him back.

"Thanks Mariana."

"Can you stop scaring everyone now?"

Jude grins and nods, "Let's go help Lena."

This boy really enjoys his chores. Mariana nods once and shoves a piece of hair behind her ear, "I'll be down in a minute."

Jude understands. The boy leaves Mariana on his bed, alone, to try and 'figure' things out. It's all she can do to keep from laughing and rolling her eyes. After all this time, how can this still be so hard? Why can't she be like Jesus, completely confidant that no matter what he does, this family will still love him?

"Mariana?"

She jumps at the question in Stef's quiet voice. Mariana didn't know she had an audience—she doesn't appreciate it either. It's easier to keep her silence.

Positions are reversed and Mariana wonders if that's the difference between being an adult and being a teenager. For a few minutes, Mariana played the role of an adult, but in the space of a second, here she was: a child again. Adults don't have that luxury.

"Lena sent me up to get you guys," Stef feels she owes some explanation for her eavesdropping, "Did Callie really ask you to say all of that?"

Mariana looks across the room, into space and shrugs, "Sort of."

Stef looks in the same direction, simultaneously proud and concerned. No matter how much time, there will never be enough to learn _everything_ there is to learn about the amazing children that she loves. But, she knows enough to not walk away from this.

"Is that how you really feel?"

Mariana blinks, forcing left over liquid from her eyes. She doesn't dare wipe it away for fear that Stef will notice, "Yeah, I mean, it makes sense."

Stef watches Mariana, assessing her daughter's state, "That's not what I meant, Love."

Yeah. Mariana knows that.

"Are you still afraid," Stef tries not to let any hint of hurt escape in her question, "that this life—our love—will disappear? Is that why you let Jesus take the blame for the pills?"

Mariana's eyes close and her nose flares. She doesn't need the reminder. It hurts.

The teen's silence is Stef's answer. What else can Stef and Lena do? They've done everything and it isn't enough—her baby is hurting, Stef knows it, she knows why…and she can't do anything about it. Nothing her parents taught her could have prepared her for this moment: the moment that Stef has to admit to her child that she isn't all powerful.

"My baby," Stef pulls Mariana into her arms and rests her chin on top of her head, "We love you. I know Mom told you that will never change. Now I'm telling you—the shooting was _not_ your fault." Stef stops speaking when Mariana's body shutters and sobs. Stef barely keeps from crying right along with her.

Stef physically detaches Mariana and forces the girl to look at her. Every word pulls Stef's heart out of place, "I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or the next day—or next year. _Anything_ can happen. I can't control it Mariana, and neither can you. I can only guarantee that your Mother and I will _never_ turn our backs on you. We will _always_ love you. We'll keep showing you, but we can't make you believe it, Love. That's up to you."

The pain on Stef's face makes Mariana's tears stall, it steals the breath from her lungs. It isn't fair to Stef and Lena—that Mariana feels this way. The Moms have never done anything to make Mariana doubt them. Stef is right. She's not superwoman—she can't fix this, but Mariana can.

"I'm so sorry…" Mariana crushes Stef, momentarily forgetting the residual pain from her Mom's bullet wound.

"It's ok; everything is going to be ok…" Stef ignores the discomfort in her side and over the empty assurance. Mariana is grown up enough to understand.

"I know." Mariana's answer is a whisper.

* * *

"All right—is everyone here?" Lena asks, looking up from setting the last plate in front of Stef's empty chair as her wife walks into the dining room.

Mariana trails in behind her, and Lena raises an eyebrow. Something is wrong there. But Stef's face doesn't give her the answers she's looking for.

"Pizza? Seriously?" Mariana can't help it.

Much better.

Stef tries to hide her smile before bating their daughter, "Are you complaining Miss Thing?"

Jesus answers for his sister, "Hell no, just sit down Mariana." He's already reaching for his second piece, regardless of the uneaten slice still on his plate.

Lena looks between Jesus and Mariana, temporarily reassured now that the family dynamics have been restored. Even Jude seems to be enjoying himself. Lena smiles unconsciously as the boy tries to recover the falling cheese sliding off his pizza.

"So what's with this?" Brandon gestures at the unlikely culinary masterpiece in the center of the table and deftly licks the grease from his finger.

Lena meets Stef's eyes as the blonde tries to recover some semblance of good humor before sitting down and speaking with Lena next to her chair, "Callie called today."

Stef's simple sentence drops like a guillotine, effectively manufacturing an instant hush.

She tries her damndest to bring a little levity back, "Relax, we're celebrating! She's making her way back."

Jesus talks around a mouthful of pizza, "You mean you know where she is?"

Lena finally sits down, and reaches for the second to last slice of pizza, "Actually, she left a message. But we know she was in Indiana today with Wyatt. She headed out this afternoon."

"But…" Jude is thinking and Stef tries not to wince as he hits the mark, "_she_ didn't tell you that?"

"No, Lena talked to Wyatt," Stef fixes the napkin on her lap and reaches for the glass of wine that Lena had tactfully poured in Stef's absence, "but, Callie wanted all of us to know that she's coming back on her own."

"Your Mom and I think it's a good thing—Callie coming back on her own might give her some sway with the judge when it comes to her probation hearing."

Jesus nods as if it makes sense—it does—but there's more to it. There always is.

Brandon says nothing. He can fill in the blanks. Callie is coming back, that doesn't mean she'll _get_ back.

Jude chews slowly, staring at Mariana across the table. She hasn't touched her pizza yet and from the look on her face, he doesn't think she's very hungry. Between the two of them, they know that this is what Mariana was talking about—what Callie meant all along. She's figuring it out.

It takes a few minutes of silence for Jude to make his decision, "Lena?"

Next to him, Lena picks up a napkin and covers her chewing mouth, "Hm?"

"Can I talk to the judge again?"

Stef's glass is frozen midair, halfway to her mouth, "About what, Love?"

It's just enough time for Lena to finish chewing and swallow. She looks sideways at the boy as he ponders his answer.

Jude's smile, directed toward Mariana, transforms the dynamic of the room, "I changed my mind."


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for being patient everyone; sorry my updates seem to be taking longer and longer. Gotta say first because it made me laugh—to the Guest who corrected my math, I love it! Glad you caught that…I was wondering if anyone would. Jude was a little distracted so I figured it'd make some sense if he messed it up. Starophie: thanks for another awesome review. I definitely saw all those indicators too, particularly during the wedding dance. I even asked myself—did Stef notice that something wasn't right? It almost seemed like it, but I couldn't be sure. **

**And I'm so glad this story is appealing enough to interest someone who was looking for something specifically different :D**

**I'm trying really hard to develop the relationships between the kids from a distance—they each have such interesting things to bring to the table. So far, I've tried to devote a chapter which focuses on each of their reactions (Jude is kind of in most of them though). Don't worry, I haven't forgotten Jesus. I have a special idea in mind for his—in the meantime I tried to do something with that in this one. So there are two more planned chapters left. After that, it'll be open season I guess, who knows!**

* * *

**_Callie Jacobs_**

**_Oklahoma Rest Stop_**

**_Day 28_**

"We're stopping?" Callie isn't alarmed. Not yet, but the bells stir, getting geared up as good Samaritan number four coasts to a stop in the Service Area off the Thruway. He isn't parked but his tiny beater sedan idles along the curb of a service pavilion advertising for the expected McDonald's and convenience shops inside.

He doesn't speak. Why isn't he saying anything?

Callie's mouth dries. He wouldn't. He _can't_ leave her here. This is an _island_. Callie can't walk the Thruway and no one is going to pick her up here at this hour of the night…

Maybe she shouldn't have turned him down. It wouldn't have been that bad, it's not like she's never done it. Callie hates herself for the thought. She's worth more than a blow job on the side of the road. She's not doing it. No way in hell. Not now, not when she's on her way. She's come too far…

There's no word from the front so Callie takes it upon herself to fill in the blanks. She's been in worse spots. The girl uses her foot to push open the cringing car door and drags her duffel bag behind. She can almost pretend this was part of the plan.

The squeal of burning rubber as her ride takes off ruins the illusion and Callie stands alone, in a nearly deserted parking lot, backed by a single minivan under the only working street light. Her blue duffel sits on the ground like a glowing sign: Runaway.

"Hey kid—kid, you ok?"

Great. Callie tries not to shiver and keeps her back to the van as she bends to grab her bag. Next up is figuring out a new plan.

Frustrated tears build in the corners of Callie's eyes. The sound of an opening car door is unmistakable. She just wants to be left alone. Ignoring the guy isn't going to be enough.

"John?" That was a woman's voice.

Quickly, Callie wipes at her eyes and glues on a smile before turning to confront the average Joe half in, half out of his minivan, anxious wife leaning forward to see past his body. Callie's willing to bet there's a couple kids asleep in the back. Families are the worst. Never take a ride from a family—odds are, you'll be dropped off at the nearest police station.

"Are you alone?"

Stupid question: who in their right mind is going to say yes? Callie casts about for a smarter answer, "Nope, my Dad's a trucker. I'm meeting up with him—we're on our way back to California. Thanks though."

Half truths are easier to keep track of. It's none of this guy's business anyway and Callie banks on human nature. No one wants to get involved—no one wants to be wrong.

"Oh…ok…" Mr. Joe doesn't know how he should respond to being dismissed. Callie is already walking away, toward the back of the rest stop, aiming for the dark tractor trailers in the distance. Mr. Joe and his wife aren't going to be a problem, Callie can tell. Too bad her other issues aren't going to be so quick to go away. The tracks of water on her face attract the cool night air. It's going to get colder before it gets warmer.

She feels Mr. Joe's eyes on her as she walks. Callie wants to shrink under the scrutiny but she doesn't. Why does it matter so much if they report her? Why is Callie still trying to hide? It would be so much easier to let someone else deal with it—to bring her back. She can't do that. Callie has never let anyone fight her battles for her. She isn't about to start now. A tiny whisper in the back of her mind claws its way out: Callie doesn't know _how_ to let anyone else fight for her. She's trying to learn. She's scared to death that it's not working; that she'll make it back and she'll be the same person who ran.

The tractor trailers look deserted, but Callie knows better than to trust what she sees. The driver's are likely kicking back in the cabs, taking a break or catching some sleep. Against every instinct, Callie slips between two trailers, hemmed in on either side, her escape routes narrowed down to the way she came. Too late to care. Callie just wants to disappear. The girl tosses her duffel ahead and sits on the hard ground in the dark, face even with the bottoms of the trucks. She can't see under them or to the other side, it's too dark. Callie can't _see_ much of anything at this point. For some reason, being here—getting dropped like a dirty diaper—terrifies her. She knows she got lucky, in the grand scheme of things. She's lucky that guy gave her a choice. Callie's lucky she had the strength to make one she can live with. At least, she thought she could live with this.

There isn't much to work with. She can break into the pavilion—and probably set off some alarms and get picked up. She could ask nice Mr. Joe back there for a ride—and probably get dropped off where she wants to be even less than here. Callie is confident she can hook up with a trucker who will give her what she needs…for a price. She can sit here, shivering and trying to rub the warmth back into her rapidly cooling body all night or she could just…let it be: lie down, stop trying, and see if she wakes up in the morning.

Jude. That would be really bad for Jude.

Callie lets her head fall into her hands and pulls her hair, tugging on her scalp, willing herself to come up with something better. How can she want something, and _not_ want it at the same time? Just like she wants to get back to the Foster's while she fights the urge to run screaming in the opposite direction. She's no good to Jude like this. Callie's no good for _herself_, like this. She's aware enough to realize that and to know that there are some things no one else can fix. Callie wants to be someone who can be counted on; she wants to be that person who can count on someone else too. She's spent her life taking care of Jude and anyone else who happened to need her and for a time, Callie was proud of that. For a little while, Callie was ok with whom she was: until she got to the Fosters, and then she wanted to be _more._

Callie wants to be _happy_. Such a little word to wrap her head around: trying makes her feel stupid. It's a perpetual battle, trying to deny what she needs and what she wants while the other half of her is trying so hard to accept all of it on behalf of the masochistic side. The duality is tremendously painful. Callie is constantly self-defeating.

She's had enough.

Callie stretches out, reaching for her bag and drags it closer in the dark, searching for the zipper with trembling fingers. Pins and needles prove that she hasn't gone numb as Callie pulls out her cell phone. Turning it on isn't so easy. She hesitates over the power button. There's no charger in her bag, Callie didn't see any need to pack one before she left; she'd never intended to hold onto this phone. Wyatt thought of a lot, but he didn't think of that. She had a few hours of battery time left—maybe. Callie can't be sure and she _has_ to be sure, every time she turns this phone on—that it's something she absolutely _needs_ to do.

Are there messages waiting for her? Callie's heart jump starts at the thought. Did Stef call her back? Did they tell Jude? Callie can't distinguish between nerves and excitement.

She has no right to hope that there's a message.

But she can't get through the night alone. No one will know. Hope is a personal sin—easy to hide. They never have to know that Callie needed to hear their voices.

Callie exhales and turns the phone on, face lit up by the sudden glow.

Fifteen missed calls. The teen almost swallows her tongue in terror: four messages. She's about to open Pandora's Box. Whatever words the Foster's have left for her, Callie won't be able to erase. She can hit the kill switch, sure: erase them from the phone and she'll never have them played back at her again, but she'll still hear them in her head.

An unaccountable surge of empathy washes over the freezing runaway and she goes to voicemail, regardless. She's hurting them and Callie knows it. The least she can do is face that.

_"Callie…I've called at least ten times. I'm sorry baby that I didn't pick up. I didn't see who was calling…you must have your phone off." _Stef's voice changes from barely constrained to badly composed, "_This phone will be on 24/7. I will answer—no matter what I'm doing or what time it is. Callie Jacobs, you had better look like calling me back, Love."_

Callie takes the veiled threat in due course—because the idea of calling Stef back is too much. Just listening to a recorded message has upset Callie's equilibrium. She can't stop shaking and it isn't from the cold, this is different. She's shaking from the inside out, waiting for the next word—waiting for _the_ words that will let her know it's too late; that it's too broken to fix.

_"I gave Lena your message and we've decided to talk with Jude." _There's a pause that Callie suspects is a moment devoted to second guessing the wisdom of Stef's disclosure. Callie feels the weight immediately. Jude is expecting her now: in other words…don't mess this up.

_"I know that you're hurting, Callie. You _have_ to let us help you—there's nothing we can do if you won't let us in." _Callie recognizes the patent tone in Stef's words from the woman's omniscient observations in the past. It's the same tone that Stef used in Tijuana and whenever she talked to Callie about the trial. Callie has never been very good at having her emotions dragged out onto the table. It makes her vulnerable—even in Stef's absence, her words do the trick. Callie pulls her bag onto her lap and holds on for dear life while the message continues.

_"But you need to understand that we're hurting too—all of us, not just Jude. We talked about earning trust once…Callie, I know you remember—Lena and I have done everything we know to do to earn yours. If that's not the case and if there's something else we can do…then you need to tell us."_ Stef tries to lighten the mood—for whom, is debatable:_ "Contrary to popular belief, Moms are _not_ mind readers."_

Callie closes blurring eyes and lets the tears wash away so she can see the phone. She sets it on her knee, on speaker, so she doesn't have to touch it anymore. Touching it feels too close. Now, it's just Stef's voice in the air, nothing to reinforce it.

_"And at this stage in the game, we need you to start earning ours _back_. We _all_ have to start communicating…"_

Callie immediately thinks of Mariana and Jesus and their birth Mom. She and Brandon are a close second. In a family with so much love…why were there so many secrets?

_"…and it's your turn Callie. Tag, Love—you're it. I'm glad you called, I'm _so_ happy that you say you're coming back, but it's not enough—not for a second. I want to hear that you're really ok. I want to know where you are and how much longer we have to wait to get you back: I need you to call me, Callie. That's what it means to fight _with_ us."_

One down, four to go. Callie doesn't know if she can do it. She lets the recording run out and the automated voice go through the options before it proceeds to the next message, viciously wiping the unwelcome tears from her contorted face.

Silence; it begins with silence. Callie can get behind that. The girl coughs and sniffs, almost missing the first words, _"Callie, its Lena."_

Callie stills. She can't move. Forget fight or flight—Callie is frozen, even her heart has trouble beating. It's sluggish, fighting every compression, trying to stop. She's scared. Her hand jerks, it wants to end the call, hit the red button and be done: just another way to run. What the hell does she expect to happen when she makes it to California if she can't even withstand a _message_? Callie hasn't really thought about that: what will happen. She's close enough now, for it to be a reality…she should have thought about it.

The silence is drawn out—more profound somehow, over the phone and Callie tamps down her heaving throat, sealing her mouth shut just in case. She won't cry. Callie brought this on herself. She deserves whatever Lena dishes out. An image of the woman standing outside of Juvie surfaces, unbidden, and Callie draws her knees in, letting the phone clatter to the ground. Lena gave Callie a chance. This is how Callie repaid her. It hurts. Disappointing Lena hurts a lot more than Callie was ever willing to admit. She's afraid that there are no more chances.

_"How did we get here, Callie? You…are not your file. There is so much more to you…some of it I can't understand."_ Callie can picture Lena shaking her head over the phone, drawn out and upset, _"I want to; I'm trying to…but I think I need you to explain it to me. When Stef and I decided to adopt you and Jude…I wanted you to know, _before_ the wedding. I wanted you to know you are _family_."_

Mention of the wedding makes Callie break out into a sweat. 

_"We are a family, Callie, and from now on—there will be no secrets. You need to understand what you're coming back to and that this has not, and will not, be easy. The legalities alone…"_

Lena trails off and Callie uses the brief reprieve to rock in place, desperate to self-soothe. A side of Lena that Callie hasn't seen makes the girl wish she could take everything back: _"I'm sorry. I can't pretend to understand why you would choose to be hungry and thirsty…and scared and alone. You've completely disregarded your own safety and our _sanity_—why? This—your running—it isn't about Brandon, I know that now. It hurts to realize…that you are running from something we can't touch because you won't let us. We want you to be happy. I thought…"_

Stop. Please, just stop.

_"…I thought you _were_ happy here. It wasn't our intention to make you feel trapped; or to try and give you something you aren't ready to accept. You should have talked to us. We care about you, Callie. But do you _know_ what you want?"_

Yes. Callie wants this to end.

_"Whatever that is—whenever you know—we will do everything in our power to help you achieve it. Even if it means something…that we aren't a part of. We want you Callie, but more than that, we want you safe and happy. This is where you've led us; now we're waiting on you. So…" _Lena seems reluctant to finish, as though the one-sided conversation didn't go quite the way she'd planned, _"…call me. Call Stef. We're still here."_

Callie wants this to be over. 'This' isn't the Fosters. She wants _them_ to be forever. 'This' is everything she's done, every mistake she's made. She wants to learn from them, not keep repeating them. She was so scared, that if she went back, she'd do the same things all over again: she'd screw up with Brandon; she'd leave—whether physically or emotionally, it doesn't matter.

Callie scrambles for the phone as the next message starts. She's not ready to hear it yet but the sound of Jude's voice stops her cold.

_"I am _so_ mad at you."_ She can hear the tears in her brother's voice, _"I want you to come back. I'm sorry that I said those things to you. I didn't mean them. You're not selfish—you've always taken care of me. You're just scared…like me. Like Mariana. I know. Just come home."_

Callie is crying openly. She can't stop. What has she done?

_"I don't know how to be here by myself," _Jude sounds so heartbroken and plaintive, _"I think I made a mistake, Callie. I told the judge I wanted to leave, but he said no…for now. Callie, I don't really want to go anywhere." _Jude is beginning to sound panicked.

Oh my God. Jude did what? What little of the sky is left, falls and Callie doesn't bother to run. She's pounded into the pavement, crushed into an unrecognizable piece of road kill. 

_"Why can't we just be happy? Why does _everything_ always have to fall apart? It's not just you, is it? It's me too. Maybe…we can 'figure it out', together: like Mariana told me. I think you had to leave so you could choose to come back. That makes sense right? And I had to have that judge tell me no before I realized I was right where I was supposed to be."_

Mariana: Callie would hug her until she snapped if that were an option right now. And Jude…when did he get so smart? He's right. Even if his temporary lapse in sanity with the judge terrifies her.

_"Come _home_," _Jude is pleading with her, _"…please…"_

"I will baby, I'm coming home." Callie wipes her nose on her sleeve—she's dumpster dived, who the hell cares about a little snot?

She forgot: there's one more message. Stef, Lena, Jude…who else would call? Mariana?

_"Hey Callie…"_

It is _not_ Mariana.

Callie sits up straighter, curious despite herself.

_"Listen, I get it. I'm not getting on your back. Things are nuts around here, oh man—Moms? Yeah, they've gone bat-shit crazy. Forget about Brandon, he's a cave dweller now—started growing a beard and everything."_

Callie chokes out a painful laugh, and is surprised by the sound.

_"And your little bro…I never thought he had it in him, but he's got his own style: civil disobedience all the way. Never thought I'd see a kid rebel by refusing to eat popcorn. Nah, he stays in our room most of the time, doesn't like to talk to anyone these days."_

Jesus' tone might be light, but Callie feels the weight behind the words.

_"Mariana's actually doing ok. She really misses you—don't tell her I said that though—but she won't stop whining, asking why her best friends keep falling for her 'stupid brothers'. Yeah—Brandon told us, he figured if things were going to be awkward, we might as well know why. Of course _he's_ not getting the cold shoulder like I did with Lexi…but whatever."_

The wind changes; Callie can hear it even before Jesus starts talking again. Something's wrong.

_"I pretty much just found out…she's not coming back."_

Callie's breath catches in her throat and she hugs her ribs, trying to compress the sympathy pangs in her chest.

_"I…yeah, I don't really know why I decided to call you _now_. I mean Moms told us that you were working your way back. I guess I figured…maybe there's more to the story. You're not the only one who got bounced around. I know what it's like and I know how hard it is to land somewhere."_

Jesus gives Callie a minute as if he expects a response. She shakes her head in mock exasperation. Even in a message her foster brother is incorrigible.

_"I started thinking though, when I heard from Lexi…she had everything here." _Jesus is far from happy and Callie is pretty sure that this is the real reason he called.

_"Now she doesn't have a choice. They lied to her. She _can't _come back. I'm never going to see her again."_

Callie can't stand it. She can hear the pain.

_"Mariana's lost her best friend. We lost our birth Mom, almost lost Stef…and now you're gone._" There's a hard edge, to Jesus' final train of thought and it makes Callie uncomfortable, _"You _chose_ to leave. Not judging, just saying…Lexi didn't have that option. You can come back. That is so mind blowing for me right now; someone who has that chance…should take it. I know what Mom said…but I get you. No details—you didn't tell them anything in case you can't do it. That's not figuring it out, or whatever you told Mariana."_

The cold is a memory. Callie's body is burning in shame.

_"That's a safety net. You don't get it. You don't get to have that: can't do it. That isn't making a choice. That's taking the easy way. So get rid of it: because you're hurting Jude, and Moms and, Mariana; Brandon too. "_

He won't say it. It's unspoken, but Callie can read between the lines. Jesus is hurting too. They've all lost enough. Getting something back would be nice for a change.

_"You're my sister. Get over it."_

The phone is back in her hands and Callie's grip has tightened considerably. Jesus' closing argument is extremely persuasive. She wants to do what he says. For the first time, Callie understands that there's only one way. It's all or nothing; whether she's ready or not.

Callie opens a new text message, glancing at her low battery indicator and types as fast as she can: _Oklahoma. Not sure where. A day, maybe 2. Got ur messages. Im ok. Battery's really low. Call when I get close enough._

One last thing, but Callie hesitates before adding: _I promise._

Callie Jacobs doesn't make promises she can't keep. In two days, she'll be there. Even if it means she has to find the nearest police station. She scrolls through her contacts, checking off the entire family before she hits send. No more hesitation.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for the reviews guys, it's motivating to know you're still interested! I'm so glad you like what I did with Jesus. I've got a few more surprises in store where he's concerned. To be honest, I didn't know he was going to call her either-not until I got started writing that last message, lol. Lacedress: I do plan to work on Callie and Brandon for sure; there will definitely be a big scene after the reunion between the two of them, glad you brought that up.**

**The next chapter will be what everyone's been waiting for! Callie returns! (Although I'm at a deadlock. I have no idea how to start writing it. Not sure if it's in me!)**

* * *

**_The Fosters_**

**_San Diego, California_**

**_Day 28_**

The wood paneling in his room isn't dark enough. It doesn't fit with his mood.

Brandon's fingers move slower than usual, over his keyboard, hesitating. If he does this it will change everything. That's how it feels anyway.

Soft, flowing chords: simple at first, then layered and more complex, harmonize, picking up just enough speed to swell and become the emotion that Brandon composed into sound and memory forever ago for a competition that he never got to play. This was his family.

Not anymore. The Grim Reaper was right. Brandon's piano teacher keeps telling him that pain is what really makes a musician. It _hurts_ to play this song. It isn't right anymore. Brandon takes a breath, stops in the middle of a chord and reaches decisively for his headphones. What he's about to try isn't a composition that he intends for anyone else to hear—_ever_. And once he plays it…that's it. The old version will be obsolete; a dead end. Brandon isn't sure he's ready to let go of that version yet, but whether its right or wrong, the way he's feeling at the moment supersedes sentimental value. Brandon is going to add Jude and Callie.

The first few notes are too…empty. What the hell was he thinking? Brandon's fingers move on autopilot and he barely hears the sound drifting between his ears. He shouldn't have pushed her. He knew she was afraid it would get her and Jude put back in the system. Brandon thought he knew better—his Moms would never do that. They wouldn't. He was right. What he got wrong, is Callie. He won't get her wrong again.

Brandon's fingers hit the keys a little harder, trying to grind the notes into submission. He wants them to be achingly perfect: with all of the confusion and fear; the desperation and the love that he feels for Callie and for this family. What's going to happen if she comes back?

Finally, his fingers hit on a note that is deep and strong and faded in the background, a landing for the others, almost easy to miss yet impossible because it's everywhere and in between.

He can't leave. Brandon promised his Mom and the truth is he doesn't _want_ to leave. He wants Callie. He wants to shake her like a rag doll for scaring them and then he wants her in his arms again, but Brandon knows that can't happen. He's resigned to that. He'll leave Callie alone for her sake and for Jude. They both deserve a family—_this_ family. It's the one thing Brandon has to give Callie; the one thing that she needs most.

A lighter chord—a tentative tone that mingles with the others briefly, grows as the rest crest and plateau. That's Jude. That's Brandon's little brother. The boy has a better chance than Callie does. Brandon refuses to believe that it's too late for her, but he _knows_ that Jude is right where he needs to be to grow.

Can he really do it? Can Brandon really live in the same house as Callie and let her go? What if she's changed? What if…Brandon's ears feel hot under the headphones and he misses a key. What if Callie wants _him_ more than she wants this family? But did she ever really want him to begin with, or is Callie just confused? Does she _know_ the difference?

Brandon isn't sure _he_ does, and the scrutiny is going to be unbearable. He can't figure it out, in this house, by himself. There are too many possibilities—not one of which he feels good about. He can't win. But…maybe he can make sure that Callie does.

_If_ she even comes back. And _if_ the state lets her stay…if not, that'll be on Brandon.

His fingers have found a pattern—fallen into a lovely, throbbing routine. They're still recognizable, his family: the chords that are his Mom, Lena and the twins. Brandon's has changed and behind them all, heard but unheard, certain but not…is Callie and Jude. This new composition is tricky—richer, and completely co-dependent. Without one, everything else falls apart.

_That's_ his family, but right now, it's in pieces.

Brandon's eyes flicker, distracted by the pulsing glow of his cell phone. He pulls off his headphones and grabs it before the ringtone starts and disturbs the quiet for the rest of the house.

One new text message…

It's from Callie.

* * *

Jesus tries his hardest to ignore Jude.

The controls on his laptop are too slow and Jesus fights back a string of curse words as his graphics freeze. He _needs_ a gaming computer so bad.

"Oh come on!" Jesus' palm hits the edge of his desk. He can't help it. He's been worked up for days, waiting to snap. Pills or no pills…nothing's working. Jesus should know better. This isn't the first time. Ana was the first. He's used to losing people. Jesus learned young that gone means gone: for good. Gone isn't an abstract theme for him and Mariana. It's very real and it isn't something Jesus glosses over or denies. He accepted it when Ana left them. He had to, because his sister couldn't.

He accepted it when Callie left, but he didn't expect Jude to.

Jude lies on his own bed, stretched out and silent, watching Jesus playing his game, without really seeing. He does that a lot: stares without seeing anything. It's getting under Jesus' skin, but he doesn't say anything because he knows this has nothing to do with his little brother. This has everything to do with Lexi.

Jesus doesn't want to sit still. This time is harder to swallow. He isn't even trying.

The laptop makes a cracking sound as Jesus slams it shut and a spike of adrenaline surges through his body. He didn't mean to break it. Moms are gonna be _pissed_, but he doesn't care about that right now. Jesus doesn't know what's worse—having to accept that Lexi's gone, or knowing how badly she's handling it. He can't be there, can't help her…can't touch her.

"Are you ok?"

Jesus is startled by Jude's quiet question.

"Fine..." He's gotta calm down. Jude doesn't need to see this. The kid's got enough on his plate.

"You're upset about Lexi, right?" Jude sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. It's written all over Jesus' face and in his anxious limbs. He can't stop moving or tapping.

Jesus makes a rude noise. He doesn't want to talk about this. He'd rather be beating the crap out of a punching bag, or spiking a volleyball into someone's head. He's restless—talking isn't going to help that. It's too late for volleyball and Jesus doesn't think his Moms will take to him stringing up a makeshift bag in the middle of his room.

"I'm sorry."

Jesus just shrugs, "Me too." He wishes Jude would stop looking at him, but he's got enough sense to realize that the look is familiar. They've got something in common and the kid is grasping at straws. Jesus' chair swivels back to his computer and he winces before prying it open—the screen is cracked.

"It's not the same thing. Callie's coming back."

It's Jude's turn to shrug, "Maybe." He's worried.

So is Jesus. He fingers a piece of broken plastic and doesn't reply. There's no point in lying, not anymore. Callie's a maybe. Lexi's a definite.

"I've gotta tell Moms." Jesus lifts the laptop and rolls his eyes when he hears something rattle around inside. One thing after another.

"They won't be mad." Jude is trying.

It's Jesus' turn for a one liner, "Maybe."

"What if she doesn't?"

"What?" Jesus can't help the exasperation in his voice. Everything is annoying him including his own stupidity.

"What if Callie doesn't come back?"

"Jude," Jesus looks at his brother and gets up, laptop under his arm, "I don't know."

Time to face the music, "I don't think anyone knows much of anything around here right now. Give it some time."

He's going to be without a laptop for an eternity now. No way are the Moms gonna buy him a new one.

Jude lies back down, accepting Jesus' empty advice. It isn't worth much. But Jude still feels better, knowing that Jesus is going through the same thing, even if he doesn't have the answers. Does that make him a bad person? He doesn't _want_ Jesus to lose Lexi.

"Hey." Jesus stops just inside the door, cell phone in hand, staring at the screen.

Jude props himself up on his elbows as Jesus tosses his phone onto the boy's stomach before heading into the hall.

What? Jude doesn't understand, but he grabs Jesus' cell and turns it right side up anyway. It's open to a new text message…from Callie.

* * *

Mariana still hasn't adjusted. Who'd have thought she'd _hate_ having the room all to herself again? After the fuss she made about sharing with Callie to begin with, she ought to be thrilled. But she hasn't touched Callie's empty drawers. She hasn't even started dumping stuff on Callie's bed. That part of the room is untouched. It's eerie. Mariana doesn't like it.

She sits on her own bed, staring down the emptiness while she brushes her hair. Callie's bed is mocking her. Why didn't she wake up? Mariana could have stopped Callie.

Mariana couldn't stop Lexi though…could she have? Lexi was worried and Mariana knew it. Sure, so she'd told Jesus, big deal. Mariana didn't take it seriously enough and now her best friend is gone for good.

Her nice, normal life is blowing up. The drama is unbearable.

The cell phone on Mariana's nightstand plays a snippet of her favorite song. That's her message ringtone…

Mariana sulks for a second before checking it. It can't be anyone she actually cares about talking to, not now.

The brush drops, unnoticed as she reads the short line on her screen and Mariana jumps out of bed, "Moms!"

* * *

Night isn't about sleep anymore. It's about giving in to all of the thoughts that she can't acknowledge during the day. In the hour or more that it takes Lena to fall asleep, she thinks. Her thoughts aren't scattered or replays of the day anymore. They're strategic or cathartic, all in all, still unhelpful. But as difficult as it is and as contrary as it might seem, Lena _needs_ to think about it. She's never been one to try and forget.

So it doesn't matter that Stef has the light on tonight, and is doing her damndest to absorb the words she's reading from the new department regulation booklet that she brought home today.

"Am I keeping you awake?" It's the third time Stef has asked.

Lena counters with a question of her own, "Can you tell me what you just read?"

"Very funny," Stef shuts the paper booklet and tosses it dramatically to the end of the bed. She has _no_ _clue_. Next to go is her reading glasses.

Tonight's fruitless ritual is over then. Lena props herself up, waiting for Stef to win her new nightly battle with the covers—her wife has a hard time sleeping these days and it's almost as if their bed has started to take it personally. Stef is incapable of getting comfortable without getting tangled.

Stef is hyper aware of Lena watching, "_What?_ Here," she carefully lifts the blankets and moves over, gesturing for Lena to lie back. The ghost of a grin flickers on Stef's face as Lena shakes her head in amusement and lies down in her arms.

Just as she reaches for the light, there's a hard knock at the door and both women jump, startled.

"What?"

Stef's voice is a little harsher than she intended, but it slipped out; too late.

Jesus opens the door a crack, "You guys decent?"

"Oh, really…." Stef rolls her eyes and pulls Lena back up, into a sitting position, "Come on in."

The Moms can't remember the last time Jesus came into their bedroom. Lena steals a glance at her wife to make sure they're both on the same page. The look on Stef's face is impossibly close to the one on Lena's. This has to be about Lexi. A pang spans between the women. They've known that little girl since she was five years old.

Jesus leaves the door half open behind him and shuffles into the room, trying to look inconspicuous holding his laptop and scratching behind his ear, "You weren't sleeping right? I saw the light."

"We weren't sleeping," Stef confirms.

Lena nods, eyes on the laptop, "What is it?"

"I, uh…" Jesus drops his fidgeting hand and gives up on looking contrite. He should be sorry his Moms' money is down the drain, but he can't bring himself to really care, "It's busted. I broke it."

"Let me see," Lena waves Jesus over while Stef reaches for her glasses on the nightstand.

"Sorry," Jesus hands the computer off to Lena and tries not to wince as her eyebrows go up at the rattle.

Stef observes her son, "What happened?"

Lena looks from the broken screen to her wife. Oh boy. This is definitely about Lexi.

"I didn't mean to close it so hard. I was just…worked up."

Stef isn't an expert, but buying a new screen for a rattling laptop doesn't sound like a good investment. She's pretty sure it's done for and she's willing to bet that Jesus has come to the same conclusion. She doesn't get the chance to find out—Lena's cell phone goes off, interrupting Stef mid breath.

Jesus hands it to his mother so she doesn't have to reach and Lena's face freezes.

"It's—"

Stef's phone interrupts Lena's exclamation.

Jesus looks between his mothers, pretty sure he knows what's going on.

"What?" Stef asks, but she's already turning and stretching, grabbing for her phone. Lena just shakes her head and says, "Read it."

_Oklahoma. Not sure where. A day, maybe 2. Got ur messages. Im ok. Battery's really low. Call when I get close enough. I promise._

"Moms!" Mariana's voice carry's down the hall and so does the sound of her feet as she barrels into the room. One look at Jesus and Mariana really starts to get excited, "Did you _all_ get it?"

Stef nods as she reads and Jesus crosses his arms, trying not to fidget too much. As shitty as he feels, he's proud of Callie.

There's a timid knock on the doorjamb from Jude's fist. He's grinning, he can't help it: "Can I come in?"

Stef finally looks up, "Of course."

"Here, everybody up." Lena pats the center of the bed and moves over, mimicking Stef as her wife scoots to the other side, making room.

Mariana waits until Jude has crawled between her Moms, still holding onto Jesus' phone before she sits in the middle of the bed, facing Jesus who sits on the side, by Lena.

"She promised." It's all Jude wants to say.

Lena looks at the little boy with a sad but affectionate ache in her chest before she takes a second to glance at Stef. Her wife watches Jude too.

So does Jesus. He's pretty sure he understands what Jude means.

"Two days." Mariana can't quite bring herself to believe it.

"Ok guys," Lena feels the need to interject. As happy as she is to hear from Callie and to have some idea of where she is, there's no guarantee and she doesn't want to see her family disappointed, "I'm sure that Callie means what she says—but it might not be that easy. It could take a little longer…"

Stef completes Lena's sentence in her head: anything can happen along the way. Callie might change her mind.

Jude's head is shaking, "Callie doesn't make promises she can't keep. She'll be here."

"I want you to be right," Lena pulls the boy into her side for a quick hug.

Mariana eyes her twin brother as Jude tries to convince their Moms. Jesus looks like he knows something.

"Trust me." Jude looks up at Lena. He's happy. For him, it's settled. In two days he'll have his sister back.

Lena feels helpless under his gaze, but Stef's gives her strength. Her wife reaches over and ruffles Jude's hair, smiling herself now.

It's time to take a leap of faith. Stef lets the boy's enthusiasm catch and she smiles—a genuine smile—for the first time in a while, "We do."

Two days.

Marianna's eyes widen but Stef beats her to it.

"Brandon?"

He's standing in the doorway, mute. Brandon _can't_ talk. She texted him. Callie texted _him_. He was so sure she wanted to avoid anything having to do with him…

"Love, what is it?" Stef is out of bed in a flash and Lena tightens her grip on Jude, unconsciously reaching for the next closest arm: Jesus' arm.

"Brandon…" Stef wraps an arm around her eldest's shoulder and rests the other hand on his chest, gently shaking him, "Did Callie text you?"

Finally, Brandon swallows, "Yeah, she did."

Jude is all smiles; it's the first thing that registers. Brandon turns his head and sees his mother. He looks at her then down, at his phone. He doesn't know what to do or how to feel. There's something different about this time. Callie is really coming home. What is he going to do?

Brandon clears his throat and tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He wants to say something right for a change.

Stef's arms close like a vice and she whispers so that only Brandon can hear, "Don't worry about it now. We'll deal with it. The only thing that matters is having you both here, ok? I love you B—Lena loves you. We don't expect you to figure this out on your own."

Brandon nods into Stef's neck.

Jesus looks down at the bed spread, trying not to make Brandon uncomfortable, but he can't help giving a small shake and nod of his head. Callie's really going to do it. Jesus had no idea if she could—he has no idea if _he_ could in her place. But, if he had anything to bet, he'd bet on Callie all the way.

Mariana's suspicion grows. She rereads the text and pins her twin with a glare, "What messages?"

Stef unwraps from Brandon, not entirely letting go and eyes her wife. Lena looks a little guilty—which is puzzling, but Jude is downright fidgeting.

The boy admits, "I called her."

"I left a message after missing her call." Stef waits for Lena to speak. Sure enough her wife nods.

"I called too." That's it.

Stef will have to dig a little to get the rest of the story. Why didn't Lena tell her?

Jesus just shrugs under Mariana's scrutiny and says nothing, but she knows. She knows him too well.

Doesn't matter; she'll never drag it out of him. Jesus pulls his laptop from Lena's lap, jarring his family back to the present as he stands up to go back to his room.

Callie is going to make it. She just obliterated her safety net. It's good though—she's still got a safe place to land.

Jesus feels a little better about Lexi as he squeezes past his Mom and Brandon. Lexi isn't alone and neither is Jesus.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone. Sorry it's taken me sooo long to update. Long story-just haven't had a lot of luck writing lately. Anyway, I really hope I've managed to keep from disappointing anyone with this chapter, it took me forever to come up with something I was even remotely happy with. I'm thinking there will be 3 more long chapters to finish this story out. As always please let me know what you think! (And a special thanks to emilyam for getting my butt back in gear :)**

**_Callie Jacobs_**

**_Day 32_**

**_San Diego, California_**

_Selfish: having or showing concern only for yourself and not for the needs or feelings of other people._

Callie owns the adjective and finally accepts it. She's been sitting here, mulling over the Webster definition incessantly—long enough and brutally enough for the shame and fear to become a dull hum in the background of an otherwise calm, clear mind. Yes, she has been selfish, but the word doesn't define her entire life, only moments…just like everyone else. Callie might not be able to forgive herself right now—hell, maybe never—but Callie isn't the end all. There are people out there who _will_ forgive her if they haven't already and for some unknown reason, they seem to want; maybe even _need_, Callie in their lives.

A twinge of shared anxiety strikes through Callie's vacuum of relative peace as she squints in the dark, trying to make out the shapes of playground equipment that was brightly colored and cheery during the day. It makes her remember Mariana's story about how she met Lexi here when the girls were little. Even something so painstakingly geared toward innocence and joy looks menacing in the dark. It's an illusion.

Callie shifts uncomfortably, trying to alleviate the pins and needles in her numb legs. She's been sitting here all day. The bench has no back and its decorative surface cuts into the teen's thin pants. She'll probably have a grid pattern on her butt for hours when she finally moves on…if she manages to move on that is.

Callie is ten minutes away from the Fosters. She made a promise that she's successfully broken. It must be after midnight by now and she didn't call. Callie's fingers ache from the cold but she doesn't put the cell phone in her hand away. She's been holding it since she crossed state lines; refusing to let it go. Callie is _so_ close, but that awareness has twisted. The closer in proximity she's gotten, the further the Fosters and Jude seem to get, the less Callie can imagine actually seeing them again. Every minute that's passed was supposed to be the one when everything fell a part—when someone or something happens to waylay her. No outside force has swept in to derail Callie's forward motion…so she's derailed herself.

The school is as far as she can go. Callie shakes her head, wondering if Jesus has any idea just how right he is about Callie's safety nets. She promised to call and instead Callie decided to walk. Why bother them? She knows how to get to the house on her own, it'll be a nice surprise when she just shows up on the doorstep—yeah right. Callie knew all along that she didn't have the guts to follow through, yet it's still the path she picked. Callie _knew_ she would fail. Calling: now _that_ would be operating without a net. It would take away the option to run. Calling would be the final decision because Callie knows—once she does so, she can't run again, not physically. She won't. Callie can't do that to Jude and she doesn't want to do it to the Fosters.

So close. As surreal as the Fosters seem to Callie, she can't wrap her head around the idea that she can _be_ so close without being closer. Callie ran halfway around the world so she wouldn't have to face the temptation that comes with close proximity and now, she's come back, she's sitting in a place where she's been before. Callie's time at Anchor Beach was nothing if not indicative of the Fosters. Every day Callie attended a school governed by Lena. She suffered through classes with Brandon and juggled a few curious encounters with Mariana or Jesus at lunch. Callie is stuck. Her thinking brain cannot ask her body to walk away again; it won't allow her to leave without seeing them. Her emotional brain is paralyzed, incapable of accepting what's been offered, completely defunct. Fear is supposed to serve a purpose. It's kept Callie alert and alive but _this_ fear is killing her and its hurting Jude.

Callie can't do this alone—and she doesn't _have_ to. Callie no longer wants to. She can't feel the power button under her numb finger, but the teen tells her thumb to press down anyway. She can see it, her finger is right where it needs to be and that's all that matters. The phone blinks on. Callie doesn't hold her breath, hoping that the battery won't die, leaving her dead in the water. The thought doesn't cross her mind for once. It's going to work. She's going to call and the Fosters are _going_ to come and get her. That, is what will be.

This is easier than Callie thought possible. She's giving up…or maybe giving in. Callie is tired of trying to mind read; let Stef or Lena _tell_ her what's what.

Lena picks up before the first ring ends, _"Callie?"_

Callie winces in response to the sleepy tension in Lena's voice. Maybe she should have called Stef, but 'L' comes before 'S' and Callie's contacts are alphabetical. That tension is Callie's fault.

"I'm sorry." Callie sits completely still, hypersensitive to Lena's tone of voice as the woman ignores her apology.

_"Where are you?"_

Callie opens her mouth to reply but pauses when she hears the muffled sound of Lena talking to Stef, "I um…I'm at the school…" Callie swallows before finishing, "on the playground. Will you pick me up?" She half expects Lena to refuse, it's a ridiculous mental trap that Callie immediately tries to crawl out of but somehow, the runaway still manages to feel surprise when Lena's answer comes without hesitation.

_"Of course—we're leaving right now. I want you to stay on the phone with me, ok?"_

Callie imagines the five minute awkward silence that will pass before the Moms actually get here and is tempted to tell Lena that her battery is about to die. It might be, but Callie doesn't check. She nods, as if Lena can see her before finally saying, "Yeah."

_"Are you hurt?"_

"No. I'm fine." Callie doesn't sound as sure as she'd like to and she can tell that Lena has picked up on it when the woman's voice rises an octave, _"Are you alone?"_

Not anymore.

"Yeah."

_"Ok. We're walking out the door right now…and Callie?"_

She couldn't run now if she wanted to, "What?"

_"I'm sorry too…"_

What? Callie wants to repeat herself. She doesn't understand. What could Lena possibly have to be sorry about?

_"…the only thing that matters right now is that you're ok."_

Stef's whispered voice interrupts and Callie catches herself straining to make out the conversation between Moms. Their voices bring Callie closer and closer to earth. This is really happening.

_"Callie? Callie, are you still there...she's not answering me."_

Callie hears Stef curse in the background and blinks, starring wide eyed at the slide. She can't answer Lena. She isn't sure. _Is_ she still here?

* * *

"Right there, Stef."

Stef follows Lena's pointing finger in the dark and her jaw clenches. She isn't sure if she wants to cry or scream. She can only hear Lena's half of the conversation but it doesn't sound like Callie has much to say. It's enough that she called. To be honest…neither Stef nor Lena was ready. They didn't know if Callie really _would_ call. How could they prepare?

Lena's body turns in the passenger seat, phone glued to her ear as she and Stef pull into a side parking lot next to the playground. Lena's chest strains, her heart compressing. She can't _see_ Callie, but she knows the girl is there, alone in the dark. Why here? Why did Callie make it this far—to the school, to _Lena's_ school, before calling?

Stef doesn't care where or why Callie chose to call. Behind the wheel, cut off from Callie's voice, Stef is more concerned with getting to her; getting her hands _on_ Callie. One quick look and woman is pulling over, oblivious to the white lines that designate parking spots.

"Stef…" Lena's hand covers her phone as Stef jams the SUV into park. Dread tinges Lena's one word reminder.

"I know: not until we get her home."

This isn't going to be easy. Stef doesn't care. She isn't thinking about what she's going to do or say. In situations like this, the cop has learned to trust her gut and to adjust, to adapt to the situation. Whatever Callie presents, Stef will handle and so will Lena. Stef has every faith in her wife.

"Callie?" The car door slams behind Stef, closely followed by Lena's. Her heart pounds, delivering massive amounts of uncontrolled adrenaline to the rest of Stef's body. The brief grip of Lena's hand in her own, pulls Stef back; slows her down and triggers the self-awareness necessary to keep her from completely overwhelming Callie.

Stef's first glimpse of the girl rocks her control, "Oh…"

Lena swallows her first response, trusting to anonymous silence. Callie looks terrible in the shadows.

The runaway doesn't look up at the sound of Stef's voice. Callie hasn't considered her appearance in days, but she knows what she went through to get here. She knows she's different. Callie will never be the same.

She can't look at Stef. Callie is afraid and fear is not ok. What happened to the numbness? This is something she has to do; she needs to be strong.

The touch of shaking fingers under her chin startles Callie, but she does her damndest not to pull away as Stef forces her face up.

"Look at me."

Whatever coddling or comfort that Callie expected evaporates with the cold edge in Stef's command. Callie doesn't think she can handle it.

Stef is furious. Not at Callie—despite what the girl may think—but at the world in general.

Finally, Callie meets the blonde's eyes.

Stef ignores her hair—for the moment. Her eyes flicker: desperate to look away from the havoc that _someone_ inflicted on Callie's face. Stef longs to look over her shoulder for Lena, but she knows that Lena isn't used to seeing _this_. Stef needs to give her wife some time to adjust.

"Callie…"

For the time being, Stef is at a loss for words. The look on the woman's face; the expression in her eyes resembles one that Callie is familiar with; it mirrors her own. It's coming then: Callie wonders when it will happen; when will everything go south and the final bomb drop? When will everything be over?

Stef knows. She can tell that Callie is waiting for something unpleasant; _anything_ that the woman has to dole out. It makes her so terribly sad to realize that Callie can't understand what Stef is really feeling. The blonde can barely control her own horror and the desperate need for connection but Stef assumes that expecting Callie to let her hold her might be too much. She reaches for the teen anyway; slowly pulling Callie upright in an effort to appraise her injuries. Stef breaks her personal ban and prays that Callie's bruises aren't as bad as they look in the flickering glow from a distant streetlight.

Lena finally masters the dreaded nausea in her stomach and reaches out for Callie's skeletal figure. The girl has lost so much weight that Lena is afraid to touch her. Lena sees her wife, and she sees Callie. She decides not to make a sound, afraid that the image in front of her will shatter.

Callie thought that seeing the Moms again would be harder, but all of the panic is gone. She's given up, let go of control because ultimately, it doesn't matter. They can do what they want with her: prove her right or prove her wrong. Callie is at their mercy and she doesn't hope—not for anything.

The teen flinches as a car backfires in the distance. Stef feels Callie's response; wonders if it's because of her proximity and tries to care. Stef _tries_ to ignore her own needs in favor of Callie's. She _needs_ to hold onto this child right now, but if it's in Callie's best interest, Stef will force herself to let go.

"Callie," Stef moves her hand, unable to keep from addressing Callie's shortened hair. Her voice is strained, "Can I hold you, Love? Just for a minute..."

Callie's hand grips her other arm as she tries not to shiver at Stef's request. There have been moments where she would have given anything for this. She _needed_ Stef and Lena and Callie fights the sneaking suspicion that she still does: that this numbness is just another safety net. Her ribs ache—a convenient reminder of the beating she got three nights ago when she tried to break into the back of one of the tractor trailers, anything to block the cold. Freezing to death wasn't an option, but she'd been caught and paid the price. Callie can refuse and she knows that Stef will let her go, not because Stef wants to…but because this is just another one of those choices that Callie has to make for herself.

She waits a second, watching Lena the whole time …Callie has to decide what she wants, just like the woman said. What if…what if Callie can't have what she wants? What if what she wants is out of her hands and theirs too?

Everything might be ruined. They wouldn't tell her that—not yet, Callie knows. They'll wait to drop that bomb, until she's safely restrained or otherwise contained. They won't risk her running again…but Callie wants to know, more than anything, if it's too late.

Instead of answering Stef—or looking at her—she addresses Lena, "Am I going back to Juvie?"

Lena's mouth opens and she looks at Stef, whose body has stiffened, refusing to take her attention from Callie's face. Finally, she shakes her head, "We don't know, Callie. You'll have to answer for the parole violation but I think…it'll be largely up to you. The judge will want to hear what you have to say."

It's funny. Callie closes her eyes. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. For so long, other people have been calling the shots, forcing Callie and Jude here or there. She hated it. Now, she realizes she depended on it. She needs a simple answer for once: a yes or no.

Yes. She wants to say yes to Stef. But that moment has passed. Callie needs to feel something other than exhaustion and despair.

"Callie?"

She must look catatonic, because Stef shakes her gently, asking Callie to look at her.

Stef doesn't know what Callie is thinking. She isn't psychic, but she can make an educated guess and so can Lena.

Lena inconspicuously rests her hand on Stef's back: invisible support.

Callie finally looks, silent and stoic.

"Yes?" It's all Stef has to ask to make Callie crumble. The girl's look of defeat isn't an answer.

Stef interprets it as a plea.

It's a _need._

Callie lets the woman pull her close. There's no fight, only the sudden warmth of another body; the awkward safety of having someone covering her. Stef can't make everything better; she can't make Callie's monsters disappear—the nights on the street, the stealing, starving, freezing, and the fear. But right now, there's in here, there's now—and there's out there, there's _before_. Callie's face is impassive, incapable of expression as she sees the ghost of time passing. Her body is paralyzed. The last thirty-one days stalk Callie from a distance, held back for the moment by Stef's shield. As soon as the woman lets go, Callie knows they'll come rushing back in.

This, more than anything else is Callie's fault. These demons are of her creation. She should never have left.

"I'm so sorry…" The only words that Callie manages to choke out sound hollow. Stef and Lena wanted to help her, they still do. But Callie has made it impossible. She doesn't know how to fix it, or if it _can_ be fixed.

Stef's chin rests on top of her head, and Callie's ear is flush against the woman's chest. The teen hears Stef's heart beat—feels it through skin and clothing. The cadence of Stef's breath; the rise and fall of her chest wills Callie's breathing to synchronize.

This hold might open Pandora's Box but Callie doesn't give a crap. Her arms clumsily fold around Stef in return and her hand touches Lena's where it rests on Stef's back. Callie's first instinct is to pull back, afraid.

Lena wraps her fingers around the teenager's cold hand.

Tears flow from Callie's wide eyes. She hasn't blinked; her tight mouth hasn't changed, but Callie is crying and she can't control it.

Stef isn't sure what's happening. Lena has a better idea, semi-removed from the moment; still neither woman is privy to the depth of Callie's anguish. They can see that it's there—but she won't let them in.

"Callie," Lena tries to help when Stef looks at her, eyes so empathically pained that neither of them can stand it. Lena doesn't let go of Callie's hand; she reaches out and wipes away the track of tears that she can see, with her thumb, but Callie turns her face rubbing them away herself. She doesn't pull back completely, but she needs them to understand because this is killing her. The fear is tearing her to pieces.

"I've lived my whole life without you. I managed, and now look at me." Callie trips on the words, swallowing thickly before barging forward, "I _can't _need you. It hurts too much—it's too dangerous. I'm losing control."

It hurts.

Can't? Stef and Lena look at each other over Callie's head, at a loss. Callie's words cut deep. She's trying to tell them, to explain why this isn't ok.

Lena finds purchase on Callie's arm. She pulls the girl, forcing her to turn, still in Stef's grip, "Callie you _do_ need us. You've always needed _someone_, even when you thought you didn't and that need isn't going to go away until it's satisfied. That's why you came back."

Is it? Callie stares at Lena, willing the woman's words to be some kind of answer. If Callie doesn't need them, why is she reacting so strongly, why is she so terrified of having and then losing? Callie came back, because denial became harder—more impossible to withstand than the fear. The need is too great. Fear or no fear, she's here, this is happening and Callie is going to live with it.

"Maybe you're right."

Lena looks surprised and uncertain, as if she's waiting for the punch line.

"But I don't know how to do this…do you?"

Stef reaches for Lena's shoulder, knowing that Callie has put her wife under the microscope.

To her credit, Lena doesn't squirm. There are no magic words, no miracle moment in which all of Callie's walls will fall, or all of her wounds will heal.

"No, I don't," Lena is sad but truthful, "but I want to find a way. Don't you?"

Callie doesn't have to say anything. Her face and the drying tears say it all.

"Hey," Stef redirects Callie's attention, "You know its ok, right?" Callie's heard this voice before, it's deliberate and soft. Stef knows exactly what she's saying and is pretty sure of the affect it will have. If only Callie could be so confident…

"What," Callie rubs her face vehemently, "are you talking about?"

Stef takes Lena's hand before she dares to try and explain, "That it's all right for you to need us, Callie. We're ok with that, even if you aren't. We _want_ to be here for you," Stef's grip on Callie's shoulder tightens. She hasn't broken contact yet and doesn't intend to, "that's something you're going to have to accept. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Callie's nod is extended and thought out. She understands, and understanding is a start.

"Ok," Stef's face is strained, her body crashing now that the adrenaline has leaked away. Lena nods as her wife continues, "Let's go home."

Wordlessly, the two women accept the switch in roles. Lena drives while Stef sits in the back with Callie, teenager tucked into her side. Callie lets herself be led and positioned. She's too tired to care or question anymore. She's had enough for one day and the thought of everyone else drives Callie into a waking coma. She can't bear the thought of seeing Jude like this, but she doesn't think she can wait either...and how is she expected to react to Brandon? How does she _want_ to react?

There doesn't seem to be much point in trying to predict the future—even the very near future. Callie's head lolls with the motion of the car, into Stef's shoulder.

"Sorry," Callie's word is a mumble, barely audible but Stef tightens her grip in response and Callie finds herself waking up a little more. She didn't know this was important. Callie has always been physically affectionate with Jude, but she really didn't know that this was something to be missed—that human contact is something _she_ missed, regardless of the pain that Stef's arm causes, wrapped around Callie's ribs. It's been years. Callie can't remember the last time she was held like this. She doesn't want it to end, but she doesn't know how to communicate that as Lena pulls the car into the Foster's drive way. Callie tries to be sensible and practical, she's holding on to composure along with Stef's shirt as she asks calmly, "What am I in for?"

Lena turns in the front seat, meeting Stef's questioning eyes. They hadn't known what to expect, yet they should have. This is the same Callie that they knew and counted on before—the girl who took care of her brother, who set aside her own stability to spare another girl from an abusive situation…the same girl who made sure Mariana made it home safely after she'd had far too much to drink. Callie behaved like an adult, except for the obvious exception and she was falling right back into that role: capable of talking about a traumatizing rape matter-of-factly, and now, accepting responsibility and the consequences of behaving like the child that she's supposed to be.

"Everyone was asleep when we left, Callie. You don't have to worry about that tonight." Lena chooses her words carefully, skating around the truth and hating herself for it. She's the one who said that there would be no more secrets.

An unexpected bout of nausea forces Callie to fight back vomit, making her jaw lock in place. She nods in place of speaking, it's the best she can do.

"Ready?" Stef appraises the teenager's face, looking for any sign of a breakdown. Callie is the one to break their connection as she slides over to the car door, faster than Lena can exit the front.

"Callie!" But the fear in Lena's voice is unfounded—the girl isn't running.

Callie falls to her knees in the grass, throwing up on the front lawn. She feels Stef kneel beside her and a hand on her back.

"It's ok, get it out."

"I," Callie can't stand the feel of her heaving stomach—she's always hated throwing up and not being able to breathe. She didn't think she had this much in her stomach.

Lena waits, knowing that the girl doesn't need two sets of bodies crowding her space and witnessing this moment.

"OK, you have to calm down." Stef looks up at Lena, worry obvious on her face. If Callie keeps this up, they're going to have to get her to a hospital.

"I don't…" Callie throws up again and hot tears drip from her chin. Her body is flushed and her wrists shaking with the massive amount of effort it takes to hold herself up, "I don't feel good." She manages to get the whole sentence out in a single gasp.

"Callie…" Lena kneels on Callie's other side, pressing a hand to the girl's forehead and nodding to Stef who stands, bent over, a supportive grip on Callie's shoulders, helping the girl stay upright.

Spots swim in Callie's vision and the heat spreads to her head, making it float.

"Callie, can you hear me? I need you to listen to me. Nod, yes or no."

Callie inhales and her stomach rebels again—violently.

"Lena…"

"I think she's having a panic attack Stef." Lena runs a quick hand through Callie's short hair. It comes away wet with sweat.

Callie feels like she's dying. Stef and Lena are so far away, she can barely hear them. The loudest sound is her racing heart beating faster…and faster…and it's going to burst right through her chest.

The girl manages a weak nod and a few truncated words, "I…I hear you."

"Ok, good. I need you to sit up straight for me," Lena pulls Callie back, onto her heels, with one hand flat against the teen's racing chest, pressing hard. She nudges Callie in the back until the girl is sitting straight and her breathing eases, "Now tell me what's happening."

"I can't…" Callie grips Stef's wrist, still by her shoulder, "I _can_ breathe now…" They're a little closer and the spots are gone, but Callie's vision still swims and waves of heat wash over her.

"Do you feel that?" Lena pushes against Callie's chest.

Callie's breath hitches, "Yeah." She breathes in deep and the tightness in her chest starts to loosen and the spinning world slows down.

"I'm scared." It's a bare bones whisper that Callie had no intention of releasing.

"We know, Love. We're right here." Stef squeezes Callie's shoulder, trying to steady her own breathing. Lena looks so calm.

"I don't…" Callie shakes her head, trying to escape the spins, "I don't think I can do this tonight."

Stef is ready to agree with her, but Lena's head is shaking. This was a bad panic attack. To her knowledge, Callie's never been prone to them, but the first episode is always critical. Lena thinks the cause is obvious but if the outcome reinforces Callie's desire to avoid their long overdue discussion than this won't be the last episode. Lena is sure of it. Panic attacks are quick to become serial. Callie has to face this and she needs to face it now.

Lena is sure to use the all-inclusive 'we', automatically tying an unsuspecting Stef to her decision, "We understand Callie, but we've _all_ been through a lot this month. There are some things that _have_ to be addressed tonight, regardless of how afraid we are."

Stef manages to keep the surprise from her voice and her tone neutral as she tries to soften Lena's assertion, "We don't bite sweets. It's going to be ok. There's nothing to be afraid of. You're safe."

Safety is relative. Callie breathes automatically, trying to regain some semblance of homeostasis. This was never on her list of things to experience—none of this was. The longer she breathes, the more aware she is of Stef and Lena and the more sense Lena's words begin to make. For the moment, Callie is more afraid of what just happened than she is of facing her mistakes. Some of the helpless panic begins to fade. This can never happen again—_ever_. Callie doesn't think she'd survive it.

"You're right." Callie tries to stand, but her legs are still shaky. Lena and Stef steady her on either side.

Lena opens her mouth to respond, fighting every maternal instinct in her body begging her to reverse her harsh pronouncement and go easy on Callie, but the most she allows is a merciful pause, "Stand for a minute. Are you still dizzy?"

There's no communication between the two Moms. Their focus is completely separate and yet they still manage to operate in tandem. It's a leap, but the women are used to trusting each other's judgment. Stef harbors some heavy-duty doubt about Lena's new approach, but she knows better than to show it in front of Callie.

Callie waits before replying and squints at the porch, willing it to snap into focus and stay fixed. Her nose whistles as she breathes out, "Yeah. I'm ok. You can let go."

Lena looks at Stef, willing her wife to understand. They have to take Callie at her word. The three of them—the entire family—needs to learn to communicate honestly. If Callie says she's ok, in this particular situation, Lena is willing to take her word for it. It's important that they do so and that Callie learn to let them know when the opposite is true.

Stef is reluctant to let go, but she follows suit, letting Lena take the lead, "All right then. Let's get inside."

"Callie?" Stef gestures for the girl to go ahead of her. Lena may have designated hands off—but Stef isn't about to give the girl a blatant opportunity to run or hurt herself. The woman follows behind, eyes on Callie every step of the way.

Once the front door is unlocked, it opens quietly under Lena's hand and she steps inside, immediately going for the light switch in the living room.

That final step, over the threshold, isn't so easy for Callie. She doesn't realize, until one foot is in the foyer and the other still on the porch: she's _home_. The tiny sound that runs away with Callie's mouth is unfamiliar. She isn't sure if it's a gasp of pain, relief…who knows.

Stef drapes a reassuring arm over Callie's shoulder, prompting another sound: surprise. The woman pretends not to notice, shepherding Callie into the living room instead. This, is where Callie slept her first night in the Foster's household…without Jude. This is where she obsessed over contacting her little brother and somehow getting him out of their last home and away from their abusive foster father. She had no idea that Brandon and his mom and dad would play a huge part in rescuing Jude. Callie blinks rapidly, before stealing a quick glance at Stef and then Lena. She had no idea these people would have such a huge part in saving _her_.

"Why don't we sit down—"

Callie interrupts Stef. She can't help it, no matter how hard she tries. No matter what they do or what they've done, Callie will always be on the offensive, "When's Bill coming?"

She asks as if it's already set in stone. What the Moms haven't said yet is obvious, so Callie throws it out there. She knows its coming—Callie is going to get there first, she's taking away their cache of power. If she doesn't care, these people can't hurt her.

"Callie…" Stef flounders as Lena turns from hanging up her coat, surprised by Callie's outburst and caught unprepared.

"No." Callie crosses her arms, lips quivering indiscernibly, "Just tell me."

This is not the right way. Stef's head tilts, caught in the throes of frustrated anguish and desperate empathy for Callie's predicament—for the mess that they've _all_ been enmeshed in.

"Callie, you don't have to worry-" Lena's attempt at placation leaves Callie blazing angry.

"Don't. You don't get to do that, no matter _what_ I've done. You're the one who decided I needed to understand what I was coming back to. You have no right to keep that from me now. I came back here, because you—all of you—asked me to. I came back for Jude. I need to know what I'm facing."

An impenetrable wall of invisible brick wavers around Callie, erected by her quiet but angry tirade. Stef and Lena don't deserve this.

What? Stef's face goes blank and she turns to her wife, but Lena isn't interested in answering for herself at the moment. She never told Stef what she'd said in that voicemail.

Lena's return to the living room is slow and deliberately paced as the woman gathers her wits and what's left of her enduring strength, "I left a message for Bill. He probably won't get it until Monday morning."

Stef looks down at her crossed arms and back to Callie. This, she knew. They'd had no choice.

Ok. Callie doesn't move. She can't move. One day. She has one day with Jude before Bill comes to take her back to Juvie. Callie isn't even angry. She's exhausted. There's no one to blame but herself. Stef and Lena did what they had to do for their other kids and for Jude. They _have_ to protect Jude.

"Fine." All Callie wanted was an answer. As far as she's concerned there's nothing left to talk about.

Stef shakes her head, forcibly controlling her pre-programmed hands, keeping them from grabbing Callie and shaking her. If Callie is trying to erect her walls again, then Stef attempting to pull them down isn't going to get her anywhere. That much has already been proven. But the woman isn't going to ignore it either. She isn't letting Callie off the hook.

They only have tonight to work this out.

"You don't get to do _this_ either, Callie." It's Stef turn to crank up the heat. She's as hurt as Lena, but Stef has worked through her anger, or at least she thought so, "You do not get to shut down on us, or shut us out. Not after everything we've gone through. Sit down." Stef paces in front of the couch, giving Callie no choice but to fall back, sinking into the cushions.

"I understand that you've been mistreated—that you've lost so much and that others have turned their backs on you. This family, _chose_ you, Callie. We are here for the long haul. No matter what you do, or what you say we'll still be here. I think it's safe to say we're proving that right now. _You_ are the only one who will walk away from this relationship. _You_ will be the one making that decision, not us. It's up to you."

Callie is silent. Getting into a staring match with Stefanie Foster never crossed her mind—but here she is, glaring and trying to find a rationale that will allow her to back down. Callie _wants_ to believe Stef. Her eyes flicker to Lena, a move that doesn't go unnoticed by either woman.

Stef's tone morphs into ill-concealed exasperation, "I'm gonna go get your bag out of the car."

Lena watches Stef go, with no indication of her wife's true intentions. She has a feeling that Stef left her alone with Callie for a reason.

Callie doesn't look at Lena as she speaks, finally finding the reason that she needed. This isn't who Callie is. At the very least she's always been sensible and fully aware of how other people's emotions work—how simple it _should_ be to address an issue outright and let nature take its course. Callie's taking her own advice for once.

"I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this—I just wanted Jude to be taken care of. I know I've messed with your family and…" Callie isn't sure where to go from there. She doesn't waver, Callie's purely at a loss.

Lena sinks down, into the armchair across from the couch. The parallel makes Callie itch to throw something. This is where she sat the morning before the wedding, when Stef and Lena told her and Jude that they wanted to adopt them. Lena sat cross legged, right there.

"Callie…what are you saying?" Lena's face is contorted. This is worse than she ever could have imagined. She knows that Callie is perceptive, a lot like Brandon. Part of this then, _is_ Lena's fault.

"I'm saying…I don't blame you." Callie finally meets Lena's gaze and tries not to look away, cowed by the woman's rigid face, "I'd be pissed too."

A few seconds of silence pass between them before Lena blinks and opens her mouth. No words come out.

Lena never meant for this to happen. Yes, sometimes she has a hard time letting go of anger, even blame. That was her mistake with Mariana, but she made it right. Callie must have recognized Lena's tendencies and internalized them. Not without reason. Lena _is_ angry. She _had_ felt exactly what Callie described and it wasn't for a fleeting moment. But.

But none of that matters. Unfortunately Lena lacks the words to explain to Callie, _why_.

The woman stands abruptly and Callie jumps a little, off guard. Lena sits down next to her on the couch anyway. She isn't angry, or intimidating. Callie reads sadness in every line of Lena's posture, it's the only thing that keeps her from flinching away.

"You know what I think?" Lena reaches for Callie's hand.

Callie focuses on the different colors of their skin. The woman's response is a bit of a departure from Callie's chosen course of conversation. She isn't sure she's going to be comfortable with the new direction.

"I think you left, because you weren't ready for what we were offering. Maybe, we didn't look close enough, but you didn't say anything either. _I _think…" Lena's gaze sweeps the dimply lit living room, "That we—that I, took for granted that you were happy here. Because I was happy that you _were_ here."

Callie's eyebrows raise, but she says nothing.

"And I never told you that, not really. Callie, yes…I'm angry—because you put yourself in danger and because you left us hanging and I didn't understand why."

Callie's knees shift as she listens, face burning in humiliation. She really messed up.

"I think I get it a little more now. You made a mistake with Brandon—and you felt like you had to hide it because _you_ couldn't even handle it. After the trial and…" Lena doesn't feel the need to use Liam's name, "I can see how you might be confused about your feelings for Brandon and your place in this family. I can understand your need to protect Jude—but we were all terrified for you. We still are."

"Look…my point is…yes. I'm upset, so are Stef and the kids…you Callie, are in a lot of trouble, but we love you and we are going to be there for you no matter what. You heard Stef. Now I'm saying it too. Do you believe me?"

"So…_you_ still want me here?" Callie doesn't know _how_ to believe it.

Lena's eyes, already filled with tears, spill over and she lets out a long breath, "Of course."

Callie observes their hands for another second, teetering on the edge. She was so afraid of Lena—that she'd disappointed her on such a large scale…but Callie was wrong. How could she have been so wrong? Callie feels awful for what she's done to this family and right now, _Lena_ is the one she needs.

The runaway slips into Lena's space and hugs the woman before she can talk herself out of it, "I believe you. I'll be different. I can do this."

Lena isn't about to let Callie pull away, "I know you can." This, this feeling is exactly why Lena wanted to be a mother. Callie is a part of her now and Lena is never going to let that part go.

The couch dips when Stef returns, settling on the other side of Callie, eyes speaking silently to her wife as she wraps her arms around them both. This is just the beginning.

There's a long way to go, but right now, Callie feels wanted and that's a huge change. Her stomach growls and the girl starts to shake, unable to keep control, sandwiched between the two Moms.

"What, what is it?" Stef tries not to panic at Callie's drastic change.

Callie is too in the moment for her own comfort. She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Callie spirals down and down—her only anchor resting with Stef and Lena.

"Callie, talk to us, Love."

Stef is afraid the girl is having another panic attack, but Lena looks confused, not afraid.

Callie manages to form a sentence without sobbing, "…I'm hungry..."

* * *

"Is there anything you want to tell us?"

The worst possible phrasing: Callie's fork slowly comes to rest on her plate and the teen's fevered appetite lowers with it. She stops chewing, waffle bites still in her mouth, unable to swallow. Callie's, "No," is forceful and indignant; completely unfair but effectively defensive. She knows what Stef means. The half-finished breakfast plate gets pushed moodily across the kitchen table and Callie rests her elbows on the top, once more loathing the staring match with Stef.

Stef, isn't cooperating. The blonde's face is creased with apologetic grief and determination. They need to know.

Callie feels her stomach twist as Lena opens her mouth to say something. This is what they'd agreed on—full disclosure. No one said it would be easy and they only have a few hours left until the others wake up. Callie gives up the antagonistic attitude and continues, before Lena can prod her, "I stole a couple times. There was a wallet, from some guy on the subway—I kept it. His license is in there…" Callie looks wistfully at the plate, out of reach. Maybe she's been a little hasty. She's still hungry. As difficult as this conversation is, she doesn't have to deprive herself...

Stef resists the urge to look up at Lena, by her side, after Callie's basic disclosure. They're both expecting worse and it's no reflection on Callie. They know how hard it is to survive. The blonde deliberately pushes the plate back toward Callie, trying to pick the girl's spirits up, "That's good. We'll call him and replace whatever money you borrowed."

Stef's assurance gives the girl pause, but only for a second as she picks up her fork again and mumbles, "I'll pay you back."

When Callie gives no indication that she's going to continue sharing, Lena shakes her weak relief and changes the subject, "Callie, we have to talk about why you left…"

"Jude." Callie's answer is automatic. The buttery taste of waffle in her mouth is distracting. Callie doesn't even realize that she's giving the preprogrammed answers that she just traveled thousands of miles to disprove.

The Moms look at each other, completely unnoticed by Callie, lost in her waffles. These are going to haunt her too, just like that barbeque sandwich. Hopefully, she'll be able to stomach these again.

"We all know that's not the whole truth—we have to talk about Brandon…"

"I didn't sell drugs, or prostitute, nothing like that. Mostly I just dumpster dived." Callie's brain is like a pin ball. Even she isn't sure how much of her avoidance is conscious. The girl is so tired; so run down and malnourished that she can't think straight anymore. Her body has been operating on high, driven by whatever chemicals her brain found necessary to release and now her blood feels like its thinning out, bereft of adrenaline and all the other stimulus Callie's come to rely on. The confusion that's setting in is beyond her ability to sort out. She couldn't help it if she tried.

Neither Mom is able to completely hide their relief. Stef tries to mask it and broach the topic again, "You and Brandon—"

"I sold my hair first…so I wouldn't have to…" Callie's eyes are glazed and Lena's skin crawls. What are they doing? Callie is clearly traumatized and she and Stef are pushing her beyond her capabilities. Time constraint or no, there's nothing to be gained from this.

Stef gives up on steering the conversation, instead she reaches across the table for Callie's wrist. The cop in her appreciates Callie's ability to survive, "That was smart. Not a lot of kids think of that."

Being grateful for Callie's street smarts seems like a double-edged sword, considering how they've been acquired.

Callie frowns, catching a glimpse of her own inability to hold a linear conversation, "I think I need sleep." The minute she says so, Callie regrets it and her head starts to ache, making her eyes water. She _can't_ sleep. She might only have one day left with these people, in this house. Callie can't imagine sleeping through it and she knows if she lies down now, she won't be getting up for a _long_ time.

Pull it together. A massive effort sets Callie back on track, "Brandon. You want to talk about Brandon."

Stef's mouth opens, surprised by the look of concentration on Callie's face. Part of her feels like she's having a conversation with someone already on the path to sleep, barely awake, sometimes muttering nonsense, other times, speaking without inhibition. She gets the feeling that Callie is vulnerable in this state; much more open and likely to say something she might otherwise hide.

Lena is certain of it and she battles with the moral dilemma that presents. Callie might not even remember this conversation in the morning, but Stef and Lena will.

"Callie, would you rather go to bed? We can talk about this tomorrow…"

No. No she wouldn't.

"I kissed him. It wasn't Brandon's fault."

"Callie, no one is at _fault_." Stef leans back in her chair, no longer feeling the heated righteousness she'd relied on with her son. Seeing Callie now, glimpsing the way she thinks is making Stef waver. The woman rubs her strained eyes, leaving it open for Lena to take over.

"…but we don't want it to happen again. Callie there are so many possibilities…you need to talk to us. Why did you do it? Was it because you were upset about the trial? Were you afraid of the adoption, maybe looking for a way out?" Lena doesn't think this is wise, but she speaks to the issue anyway, waiting for irrefutable proof that Callie isn't entirely competent.

Callie stares at Lena, thinking. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but Callie's brain is stuck on the only option that Lena doesn't present—that Callie hasn't even considered: she has _real_ feelings for Brandon. It's the one thing she can't tell them. It'll destroy everything.

That feeling, the one that made Callie want to run in the first place bubbles up and she finally understands. It wasn't about Jude. Even then, she knew that the Fosters would never send him away just because she'd messed up. It _was_ partly about the trial. Liam and Brandon are foils. Liam pretended to be everything that Callie wanted and turned out to be the opposite. He hurt her. Liam hurt her in a way that made Callie blind to what she _could_ have. Brandon is the other end of the spectrum. Brandon is everything she thought she could never have.

…and she was right. Callie finishes her last bite of early morning breakfast and sits staring at her glass of orange juice, willing it to turn to coffee. She _can't_ have Brandon. But she can have this family. Without it, Callie will have nothing.

"Callie?" Stef rubs her temples, waiting for the girl's answer.

"Your son will make a great man." Callie isn't sure that she should talk to Lena and Stef this way, "Whoever he ends up with…" A dull ache in her chest betrays the teenager, stalling her speech, "Well. She'll be lucky. I know that what I did was wrong, but I'm not gonna lie to you anymore. Trying to hide…everything…" Everything is a very large description and Callie knows that it isn't going to be good enough in the long run, but for now it's all she can manage, "…is overwhelming. That's why I told Brandon and then you guys about Liam. But when I…kissed Brandon, he became something new to hide and I couldn't take it." Callie shakes her head, almost daring someone to challenge her conviction. She's _sure_ now.

"Oh Callie…" Lena and Stef float in the wake of Callie's emotionally charged admission.

"I didn't want to hide it from you. I could have. I'm good at it. But I didn't want to betray you like that, especially, um….after you wanted to adopt me and Jude. I couldn't do it to Jude and I don't think Brandon really understood what it might mean for the rest of the family." Callie has never felt so peaceably blunt. She should have done this before. The outcome doesn't matter. It's out of her control, but this is right. Meeting Stef and Lena's eyes like this, being so matter-of-fact and giving them the option to respond is oddly soothing. "This family…has been through a lot. I know you had a hard time with Mariana," Callie's gaze switches to Lena, "and I saw firsthand how all the secrets can destroy what you love, even though you're trying to protect it." Callie remembers Mariana's belated epiphany and how she shared it with Callie the night before her trial. Mariana gave her the courage to tell the truth on the stand. "You got _shot_." Callie sits back in her chair, not looking at Stef, unable to wrap her head around the final, out of order thought that comes crashing down, "You could have gotten shot in Tijuana. Brandon could have been shot—or Jude. I was trying to protect Jude then too. It _never_ works. If I'd told you about him…"

It doesn't. Every attempt that Callie has made to protect the people she loves has backfired in one way or another. She tried to protect Jude from their foster-father and it got her sent to Juvie, leaving her brother completely unprotected.

"Thank you," Lena's voice is quiet, barely controlled, "Thank you for telling us the truth, Callie."

Callie watches Stef. The woman has no desire to speak and one hand covers Stef's mouth as the blonde stares at the wall.

Stef is trying not to cry. Callie has struck an emotional chord, a dangerous one that Stef wasn't ready to approach. She has to deal with that and everything it entails. Stef is keeping her own secrets—secrets about the night she was shot and she's doing it to protect Mike. She was willing to keep Lexi and Jesus' sexual relationship a secret to protect them both. Now, Callie is trying, in so many words, to tell the Moms that she has real feelings for Brandon. _Your son will make a great man._

He already is. And Callie is an amazing woman. Stef is completely zoned out, unaware of the continuing conversation. She doesn't blame Callie or Brandon for their feelings, so how can she condemn them to living under the same roof as brother and sister?

"I'll try to stay away from Brandon—well, you know what I mean." Callie absently scrapes her fork across the plate wincing when she realizes just what she's doing.

Lena is about to reply, but Stef isn't paying attention and she interrupts her wife, "No…Callie… why don't we talk about this more tomorrow?" Stef gives up on trying to figure out her own unpredictable changes, she's ready for a break and Callie is practically swaying in her chair, "I think you need to get some sleep."

Callie's fingers grip the edge of the table and her knuckles turn white. She shouldn't fight it, Stef is right but…

Lena tries to guess the cause of Callie's agitated response, "Callie, you know you're safe here right? Nothing's going to happen. We'll be right here," Lena's almost certain that she and Stef aren't going to be sleeping anymore tonight, "if you need us."

"Yeah, no…that's…I just don't want to wake Mariana, maybe I should crash down here, on the couch."

By the door: it's the first thought that leaps to mind. Stef immediately shakes her head no, "We'll set you up in our room, that way no one will bother you in the morning. You'll be able to sleep for as long as you need to."

The more reasonable Stef and Lena become, the more frantic Callie feels. She doesn't want to sleep, but she can't come up with a viable reason to present for staying awake. Ok then. Callie takes a deep breath and flexes her stiff fingers, letting go of the table before pushing back—her chair tips a little too far and way too fast.

Stef lunges reflexively across the table, catching Callie's arm before the girl goes over backwards. Lena is already on the other side, steadying her. Both Moms are breathing fast, unconsciously trying to regulate their pulse.

It's too late for Stef—she's as jittery as Callie. Lena is the one who helps the girl up, insisting on escorting her upstairs to their bedroom.

There's nothing for Stef to do, nothing that she can think of to say. She watches Callie and her wife go before standing up to pace the kitchen. There's a beer left in the fridge. There's wine in the cabinet. Stef doesn't think either will help and she isn't in the mood. What are they going to do?

* * *

"Here," Lena inconspicuously gives Callie the once over before she ruffles through Stef's dresser drawers, looking for something that will fit the girl in the short term. Callie has to get out of her dirty clothes.

"These will still be a little big, but they'll fit you better than mine would. I think it'd be better to wait until morning for a shower…" Lena offers Callie a pair of Stef's pajama pants and an old T-shirt. The way that the girl stands, hardly seeing her, gives Lena pause. Something's on her mind.

"Callie?" Lena's questioning gesture with the pajamas is soft, but insistent.

"Right, sorry." Callie shakes her head sharply and accepts the clothes Lena is offering, taking a few seconds longer than usual to identify them. She turns to follow Lena's pointing finger, but the woman's words don't register.

"You can get changed in the bathroom. I'll wait…"

Callie is focused on one thing and one thing only.

Lena doesn't mention Callie's pre-occupation, deciding to wait it out rather than push. Her arms cross and Lena tries not to assign her own meaning to the teen's stormy face.

"Sorry, I keep drifting," Callie finally shakes out Stef's pajamas and nods. They'll fit. But she doesn't move towards the bathroom. Instead, she dares herself to do it—to ask the one question that's bound to keep her awake.

"Did he really…"

Lena bends a little, trying to see Callie's face. Even without hair to hide behind, Callie still manages to keep her face angled down, deep in thought.

"Jude told the judge he didn't want to stay here?" Callie's throat closes halfway through the statement and she coughs, trying to save face.

Ah. He must have left Callie a message. Lena is tired of standing, she doesn't have the stamina tonight so the woman sinks down on the edge of the bed. Lena's body is stressed, over-tired and anxious to the point of overload. Overload is heavy and slow and Lena's mood follows suit. She nods towards the bathroom, "Go get those on and we'll talk."

Callie eyes the woman, trying to decide whether Lena means it. Will she really tell Callie what she wants to know?

Lena waits out Callie's internal struggle. She can tell that the girl is trying to decide whether or not she should argue. Lena doesn't help. Callie has to come to the right conclusion on her own.

Still, Lena feels a little guilty when the bathroom door finally closes, leaving her alone. Her eyes close and she falls back onto the bed—just for a minute, that's all…maybe two...or three.

"Lena?"

The woman looks awful as she struggles to sit up. Callie didn't notice before—now she sees that Lena's hair is sticking up in every direction, there are bags under her eyes and the teen realizes that both she and Stef are still wearing pajamas. _They came to get her in their pajamas and slippers._ Callie rethinks her inquiry, guilt ridden.

Lena blinks heavy sleep from her eyes and scoots around the edge of the bed to make sense of the haphazardly tossed covers, "Hop in."

It feels weird to be wearing Stef's clothes and getting into the Moms' bed but Callie doesn't say so. It's unusually comforting at the same time. She isn't going to ask again. If Lena doesn't want to talk about it tonight, Callie can force herself to wait until morning…

"He did. We were really worried for a while. But whatever you said to Mariana on the phone worked wonders. He asked to talk to the judge again. Jude is an amazing boy, Callie—you've taken good care of him and the Judge saw that. I know he did. He's going to let Jude stay. The adoption will take a little longer, but we're working on it. I promise."

Lena slides off the bed and stretches, trying to work the kinks out of her back. She's never been more exhausted in her life. She is so glad to have Callie back and a huge part of her is relieved. For the first time in a month, Lena's body is beginning to relax and it's doing so at a surprising rate. Maybe she _will_ sleep again tonight.

"He's a smart kid." Callie isn't trying to convince Lena. She's just reminding herself.

"I didn't mean to upset Stef."

Lena's state of relaxation feels threatened, "What do you mean?" The woman looks down at Callie as the girl draws her knees up, at the edge of the covers.

"With everything I said about Brandon. She seemed upset."

Lena's pause lengthens into an intermission. She's really hoping this is the last thing she has to address tonight. She's losing the ability to think on her feet, "I think Stef might be feeling a little guilty. We came down on Brandon pretty hard, Callie and it won't be any different for you. But to be honest, we haven't told Bill about what happened between the two of you and we don't plan to. Stef and I have been through all of this over and over. She's all right—and she's not mad at _you_. Ok?"

Callie nods.

"All right. Is there anything else you need?"

Other than a miracle? Callie shakes her head no.

When Lena presses her wrist to Callie's forehead, presumably checking for fever, then holds the covers up, Callie gets the picture. They're done for the night. For the first time in a long time, Callie can close her eyes without worrying that she won't wake up.

Stef and Lena have a big bed—it's comfortable enough and so distinctly theirs, that despite feeling guilty for uprooting its rightful owners, Callie feels remarkably peaceful and her fear of sleep seems unfounded.

"Callie…"

She answers Lena with a look as the woman sits back down on the edge of the bed, "I know you're worried about tomorrow—but just think, when you open your eyes in the morning…you'll be _home_."

A shock of mega proportions accompanies Lena's words and manic joy has Callie biting back laughter. After everything—and no matter what she dreams—Callie will finally wake to the Fosters, she'll be right where she's always wanted to be.


End file.
